


The Places You'll Go

by SC182



Series: A Sleep With No Dreaming--Dollhouse AU [1]
Category: Dollhouse, Fast & Furious (2009), Fast and the Furious Series, Joyride
Genre: Bad Science, Character of Color, Dubious Consent, Episode Related, F/M, M/M, Minor Character Death, Torture, Violence, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:23:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 65,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/SC182
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dominic Toretto would go just about anywhere for Brian O’Conner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers** : Through Fast Five, Dollhouse episodes “Briar Rose” and “Omega”, and general spoilers for Joy Ride
> 
>  **Warnings** : Mature themes and language, strong sexual content, violence, references to explicit torture and sexual assault, dub-con and prostitution 
> 
> **Thanks** : Thank you to all the cheerleaders, who gave me the extra push to continue this. To darkeyedresolve and crazy_hatter13 , thank you for being my guinea pigs and betaing this story. Without you guys, it wouldn’t have been posted.
> 
>  **Disclaimer** : Property of Universal, Justin Lin and Gary S. Thompson. I'm just borrowing them for a moment.

It was Thursday.  
  
He knew that much. Thursday was the day when patients in Wing A were grouped together in the sun-room for recreational therapy.  
  
That was a more formal way of saying arts and crafts. In front of him was a blank sheet of paper. Beyond its white edge, a basket full of entirely non-toxic coloring supplies. He had his options of water-based paint so thin, it barely showed up on the tissue-thin paper; tiny blocks of charcoal that were prone to rubbing off on heated skin quicker than paper, and colored pencils so blunt and fat, he had to wonder if they’d been borrowed from a local kindergarten.  
  
It wasn’t like he was a master artist or anything. Drawing had been something he had done now and again _before_. Always in the time before now.  
  
Before was a time when he actually made sense, when he didn’t wear baggy t-shits and pajama bottoms as a regular uniform. When he could come and go as he pleased and actually had the motivation to do so and not just sit and wait to rot away slowly.  
  
He laughed then, sudden and low-pitched, a dry rasp like a stuck door being opened. The noise didn’t sound fully human, a few eyes turned his way and back again to their crafts once they realized there was no show to be had. The occasional laugh was all anyone got out of him.  
  
When he first arrived, the head shrink debated whether he was catatonic after his initial evaluation since he remained firmly silent. Catatonia wasn’t his problem; it was shock. They came to realize this shortly before he was to be transferred to Wing D, where all the non-ambulatory yet highly dangerous, highly dissociated personality disorders, repeat self harm offenders and other hard luck cases that were restricted to padded walls, restraints and near solitary conditions.  
  
Not crazy, in the classical sense of the word, he refused to speak, because there was simply nothing worth saying anymore. The chief attending doctor tried to explain his silence as a conscious manifestation of his trauma. The attending doctor was a quack who didn’t know his ass from his pretentious elbow.  
  
Speaking was an activity that became rather passé once one had been locked in a windowless cargo freight for days, turned weeks on end with only the sounds of one’s increasingly panicked screams as evidence that one was, indeed, in fact alive.  
  
The nurses, with their sunny offers of assistance; the doctors that looked at him like scattered jigsaw puzzle piece or his beleaguered social worker, all tried to find the best counseling to bring him out of his head. They didn’t know what he needed was not to be brought out of his head. He was sitting there right in front of them, in dire need of escape. Release. An exit.  
  
That was why he had done it. Had taken his dad’s old straight razor to his wrists. Followed by the noose. Finally, the car. The last one got him involuntarily committed. He was said to be plagued by increasingly lethal suicidal tendencies, which were triggered by his severe depression and post traumatic stress, which seemed to be far too many words to explain that he was fucked up beyond all recognition. That happened after being kidnapped, tortured, and brutalized by someone that police had a hard time believing was real and not just another urban legend.  
  
Even now, sitting at a table by himself, the support watched him like a hawk. The stiff pull at his wrist reminded him of his last attempt, the one that had garnered him a Houdini-esque reputation. They still hadn’t been able to figure out how he’d managed to slit his wrists again, and, of course, he wasn’t telling.  
  
He was in his right mind after all, compared to everyone else here; he was actually sane and rational. And his right mind told him that he wanted out, wanted off this fucked up ship and straight into the depths of true oblivion. This was the type of stuff that they wanted him to talk about at group, instead of his pointed eye-rolls. After surviving real torture, the complicated drug therapies that left him feeling like a member of the walking dead and the constant looks of disappointment from his therapist were a cakewalk.  
  
He laughed again. There it was the fifty thousand dollar thought that was just waiting for him to ambush him at every turn. He played this game with himself, where he tried to forget the reality of why he was now a long-term resident at the Woodson Charcell Psychiatric Hospital.  
  
Because Fuller was dead. It became necessary to repeat the thought, just so that he wouldn’t accidentally work himself up into a panic. He had to distance himself from the situation and look at the event as a logical statement of fact. _His brother was dead._  
  
See, he had learned something in group therapy. The next repetition was almost as hard.  
  
Venna was dead. _My best friend. The girl I loved is dead._  
  
He exhaled a deep mental breath. Then, he went to himself.  
  
And he had been kidnapped by an as of yet uncaptured sociopath, who locked him in a dark trailer for a long, terrifying month before drugging him and forcing him into a fucked up roleplay, where he had to breathe life into the non-existent Candy Cane or otherwise be summarily punished. He’d been able to block out most of the other abuse. The memory of blunt, dry fingertips passing over his hips crawled over him in unguarded moments, leaving a phantom burning along his skin that haunted him for days afterwards. If he tried to shut his eyes against the feeling, then he remembered the rank slither of a tongue over his neck and chest, and worst of all, the burning inside from being savaged invaded. Raped was the right word, but he preferred to keep his distance from that one too.  
  
Release came, God knows how much later, after another extensive sequence of fade to black. He was found behind a dusty truck stop, wrapped up naked like a human tortilla, his hip throbbing painfully like he had a million lit cigarettes buried beneath the surface. Now and again, he got phantom pains along his hip.  
  
The pain wasn’t real. It was all part of his fractured imagination. All of which was saddled to a merry go-round of psychosis, rooted deeper in his head than the superficial marker on his skin.  
  
His jaw flared at the thought of the missed opportunity for freedom. _Shouldn’t have stopped me_. If they only knew what surviving meant, how it really felt to be afraid when darkness came or the heart-stopping fear that _he_ would forget his little reminder and come back for him.  
  
The sounds of slippered feet and the rubbing of wax on paper brought him back to the present. How long he’d stepped away? It was unfortunately too long if calculated by the appearance of the woman sitting across from him.  
  
No uniform meant she wasn’t a nurse or aid. A doctor maybe? The small patient smile on her lips suggested otherwise.  
  
“I know you can speak and more importantly, I know that you can understand me.” She said with the same halting elegance as one of the actors on Masterpiece Theatre.  
  
He blinked before looking away.  
  
Her controlled smile grew a fraction more. “I know that you are not crazy, but far saner than you appear. If these so-called experts actually looked at you, they would be able to see through your little charade. You were the most unfortunate victim of tremendous circumstances and you are caught in inextricable cycle that holds you prisoner even now.”  
  
She stopped then, waiting to see her words register across his face. Like a snap of her fingers, she’d read him more clearly the staff at the hospital had in months of trying.  
  
“I can help you by giving you the one thing you actually need. No medication or isolation, but time.”She paused with such confidence; the gesture seemed more for his benefit than her own need for breath. “Distance between then and now, without the struggle of reaching tomorrow.”  
  
She unfolded her lean tapered fingers and pointed politely at the blank sheet of paper before him. “May I?” she asked.  
  
He might have inclined his head, might not have. Either way, she took his silence as permission and slid the paper across the table to rest in her space. He noticed now that she lacked the requisite white coat that all senior staff wore. Not one for sartorial commentary, he could only guess that her clothes were what executive level women wore for boardroom showdowns and the occasional visit to see a stranger at a psychiatric facility. She was also reasonably attractive, though he couldn’t place her age. Definitely older than him by a decade, but she was nowhere near middle age.  
  
She tilted the supply basket towards her for a better view of the contents. Her eyebrows rose high, bowing to her satisfaction at finding just the right color among so many uninteresting ones.  
  
Long strokes of color began to fill the page and he found himself to be more than a little bit curious. He leaned forward, just slightly to watch her hand move so deliberately. The corner of her lips curled in a smile, though she didn’t say anything about his sudden attention. Instead, she continued making blunt strokes on the paper. “I am here to issue you an offer, one that will benefit you far more than me, though we will both find the venture to be successful.”  
  
The color pencil came to a stop at the bottom of the page. A spark of pure contentment was lit in her eyes, and she smiled down at the paper, as she lowered the pencil to the table top and knitted her hands together once more.  
  
“I’ll make this short. I can promise you a new life, absolute safety and best of all, the ability to forget. It is your choice whether you want to embrace that option. I know what has happened to you.” The woman took a moment to find the proper tone for her following words, “To your family. To your friends. As tragic as your life has been, this should not be the end. I would suggest you give it some thought, because at the heart of this proposal is the one thing you truly want.”  
  
What was that, he wanted to ask, but dared not open his mouth.  
  
The paper appeared in front of him, no longer blank. Across its surface, a word was scrawled in neat script- _-Freedom_. That was exactly what he wanted.  
  
“It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Thomas.”  
  
She knew his name. For a second, he’d thought that he conjured her into existence. “Who are you?” His voice was so rusty it ached after each word, making his throat feel raw and abused.  
  
She canted her head forward to bid him adieu. “Adele DeWitt.”  
  
He wanted what she was selling. If she could bring him to the end, he’d gladly take her assited promenade than the slow quiet dance that the hospital offered. He placed his hands on the table palms down, grasping at the cool surface for extra leverage. “How do I contact you?”  
  
With hands folded before her, so properly, she replied, “When you’re ready, I’ll be back.”  
  
“How will you know?”  
  
She smiled fondly at him. “I think you are almost there, Lewis, just keep talking.”  
  
Then, she was gone.  
  
Lewis would wait for her to come back. He wanted what she was selling.  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
That night he dreamed of nothing. No rough touches or voices crawling over his skin.  
  
No shadows of Rusty Nail in his head.  
  
He did exactly as she said and she, Adele DeWitt, came back and she promised him five years of sleep and oblivion. She promised him a new future for a time spent sleeping. He could do that, had already, but he didn’t want to wake up from the sleep. He could always hope that he wouldn’t.  
  
So Lewis agreed and then he slept.

* * *

  
  
The night before the day Brian and Dom planned to take down Braga, they stood on Brian’s rickety back porch staring down at the sloping hillside and the cookie cutter houses below. They hadn’t talked much beyond outlining their plan without failing to mention the unspoken consequences of their failure.  
  
They talked about Mexico and how Dom ended up island hopping for a while. His Caribbean trip began with Cuba, a short stay in Jamaica, then Puerto Rico and followed lastly by the Dominican Republic, where he kicked up more than his fair share of trouble.  
  
“Why steal gas? I know it’s expensive, but still, isn’t that a bit riskier than some of the stuff you’ve done?” Brian considered shooting plumes of fire and rupture gas tankers too high an occupational hazard.  
  
Dom turned the question over. He didn’t consider stealing gas the riskiest thing they’d ever pilfered. Racing downhill with a tanker while driving backwards down a mountain slope with the tanker headed directly at him? Now, that was dangerous. Though all together necessary for the cause at hand.  
  
“It wasn’t that bad. Had a decent size team, a couple of Letty’s cousins and it all ran smooth more or less.” Dom could tell by Brian’s steely expression that he was waiting for more. The proverbial _and_ lingered in the air. Dom wished he had another Corona as he began to twirl the cool bottle between his palms.  
  
“Gas was needed by the people, not just for racing but everyday stuff, and the government was pretty much hoarding it and charged an arm and leg for a gallon. If you thought gas prices were bad here, you should’ve seen how shitty things were in the DR this summer.” Dom shook his head slightly as thought of how funny it was for those middle class Americans to cry about prices, “The oil companies also use the DR as a refuel site between trips to South America. It hit me that everyone else was getting a piece of the pie, except the people who needed it most.”  
  
“So you took steps?” Brian said, as he shook his head, smiling. “Just like that.”  
  
After a small snort, Dom nodded, “Yeah, I did,” and took another swallow from his Corona.  
  
Dom turned away from the sight of swaying trees and turned his eyes up to the star filled expanse of Southern California night sky. “I found some people willing to pay for bulk gas delivery and so the business was born. I think Letty did it for the adrenaline, and mostly, because I was doin’ it.”  
  
It was hard for him to talk about her. She was his reason for being here, for seeking vengeance and raining hellfire. To lighten the somber mood, Brian conceded, “Despite your problem with authority, I wouldn’t’ve taken you for an anti-government freedom fighter, though I’m sure you could easily fit the part.”  
  
“Shit, you wouldn’t catch me in a pair of tights to save your life.” They laughed at the horrific idea.” Don’t think I’ll be leading any revolutions soon, but it’s safe to say that I do what I must.”  
  
After rolling his eyes in such a dramatic fashion, Brian saw the minute family resemblance between Mia and Dom and smiled to himself. “I’ll get us some more,” he said snagging Dom’s empty bottle from his hand.  
  
He headed inside to retrieve more beer. Giving thought to the gravity of the situation at hand, it wouldn’t be prudent to be wasted before they attempted to ambush a cartel head. But two beers apiece wouldn’t do either of them any harm, and Brian could see it tickled something in Dom.  
  
“I guess some lessons are hard learned, huh?” Yeah, Dom’s chest could have puffed up just a little since his student had become the master. Even if said student was still dangling by a loose thread on the buster scale. The fact that he could kick Brian’s ass in any race brought a cool smile to his face.  
  
Brian smiled as he popped the top against the mottled wood railing. The dismal state of the weathered deck made Dom wonder how often Brian used the space and the house in general. Brian didn’t strike him as the workaholic type, but Dom reminded himself that he really didn’t know Brian O’Conner despite Brian saying otherwise. It felt like he did, but having been wrong before, Dom wasn’t going to take any chances.  
  
Dom’s gaze swept across the valley below before returning to Brian, who looked just as focused, but his eyes were dark like they were a million miles away from this moment. “So, what’s it been, five years?” He hissed. “Mr. FBI now, what’ve you been doing for yourself? Catching bad guys or still hanging with ‘em?”  
  
Brian shrugged, took a long draught of his beer before answering. “Living, I guess.” Despite Dom’s scrutiny, Brian never wavered and such a statement seemed too genuine to be a lie.  
  
Dom turned away from the urban wilderness, cocked his head at Brian and waited expectantly for something more to be said. “Doesn’t sound like you’re too sure.” Struck by the similarities between them, Dom realized Brian’s reluctance to talk about himself wasn’t the drilled in distance between cop and perp, but natural distance from one icy hilltop to another.  
  
He and Brian could argue about the best manifolds, compression systems and the merits of port fuel injection compared to throttle fuel injection like most men talked about religion. But relatively simple questions about themselves were always the hardest to answer, and generally, went under-explained or unanswered by controlled silences.  
  
Despite the lack of light on the deck, Dom noted how Brian’s winter sky blue eyes seemed to glow, frosty, but not hard, they seemed distantly fixed on something or a series of things that measured way more than a quarter mile.  
  
There was no softening of Brian’s obscure expression; it remained like a mask until he began to speak words that seemed diplomatically selected. He used words that suggested this was how Brian saw the situation and after constant internal debate; this was how everything went down.  
  
“I ended up doing some things that got me into more trouble. Let me be real: a shit ton of trouble.” Brian smiled, mischievously. “Took a page outta your book though and ended up taking a long journey out east, but the Feds caught up with me eventually. They hooked me and set up a deal for a friend of mine and we put our skills at their disposal. Bilkins stacked the deck so much, I couldn’t say no.”  
  
From that admission, Dom wasn’t sure what to think or feel. “That mean you raced or were you doing the sneaky undercover thing again?” He had asked for the truth and he couldn’t blame Brian for giving it to him, even if that same truth made him want to punch something. Possibly Brian, who was so damn crazy and reckless, he wondered how much Brian was leaving out.  
  
“We were working this mover named Carter Verone. He pushed so much weight he had the alphabet crawling up his ass to get him cold.” The alphabet—FBI, DEA, ATF. Verone was one wanted man. “He hurt a lot of people too, so I felt obligated to do something.” Brian licked his lips and looked up at the endless sky. His lips curled into a tired smile.  
  
“My friend--Rome got his probation suspended and his felon status overturned so it was worth it. He stayed in Miami, opened a garage and is just enjoying too much sun and ladies in bikinis now. It’s a sick set-up and the cocky bastard knows just that.” It was obvious that Brian was fond of this dude Rome and the possibilities of what could have been as well, leaving Dom to wonder why he was here.  
  
“So why here and not there?”  
  
Brian’s low chuckle was a foreign sound to Dom’s ears. It was bitter and so not Brian that his attention was suddenly amped to maximum. “I had too many debts.” The list remained unspoken, but Dom could easily fill in the blanks: You, the cops, the Feds, Tanner… “Once they tag you, there’s no letting go.”  
  
“I never took you as someone to be caged.”  
  
“Everything’s a cage in its own way,” Brian said stoically, looking off into the distance. “There are just so many that it becomes hard to realize which you can escape from and which you have to surrender to. And the feds have made a cage that I’m this close” the words were emphasized by pinching his fingers close together “to escaping. Sometimes bidding your time is all you got.”  
  
Dom thought about his own mindset during his stint at Lompoc. Those words might as well have been his own. Suddenly, he knew Brian all too well. And they were back, in the garage staring down at the Charger. At the railroad tracks waiting for the light to change and the quarter mile to be clear.  
  
Like a shock of static electricity, the sting and burst of adrenaline was unexpected, but not unpleasant. “Goddamnit, O’Conner, I don’t know what it is about you that just gets--” Dom paused, dropped his chin to his chest and looked up at Brian, whose eyes were taking a slow slide like old motor oil over pavement from the stars to him.  
  
It was crazy, when he thought about it, how all that he knew about Brian O’Conner aka Brian Spilner could fit comfortably into a shoe box. Even the things that he didn’t know mattered less than all that he did. It was eerie how he and Brian just fit. Brian was all too comfortable with giving himself up for other people, Dom especially, while Dom expected others to just come to him. “You’re really something, you know that?”  
  
Five years later, Brian slipped back inside Dom’s life like a missing vital piece. He’d spent days hating Brian, fucking wishing that they would cross paths again, just so he could be angry. He wanted to have that chance to take his anger out on Brian’s too pretty laid back face. Gradually, those feelings died down, leaving memories full of unfilled silences that had more understanding than whole conversations with his Mia or the team.  
  
A deeper understanding than he could imagine.  
  
Being around O’Conner was like being around someone who not only knew your language, but understood the subtle nuances, the inflections, dips, rolling sounds and exaggerations. Mia, Lett, Vince, Leon, his family, his team; they spoke the language but didn’t get the profound silences, unspoken valleys or words rarely spoken. They always lost something in translation.  
  
Amazingly, Brian didn’t.  
  
Brian abandoned his half-empty bottle on the rail and smiled the sort of smile that gut-punched just how attractive he was home. “I could say the same to you.” He tilted his head towards the house. “We should be turning in; we’ve got a lot riding on tomorrow.”  
  
As he followed Brian back inside the bungalow, Dom figured he could take the sucker’s way out and force his thoughts to contemplate the sparse furnishings of the residence. It seemed less lived in and more like a place setting for something else, the home base of anyone’s life, definitely not Brian’s though. That would be the easy way out as his thoughts wanted to focus on something else.  
  
Someone else.  
  
Watching Brian in the moonlight and as he cleaned up a few odds and ends around the kitchen, Dom got to play voyeur to Brian’s easy fluid grace. The way he moved his body with supreme confidence, totally absent of rigidity. There was an economy of movement, what mattered most was the space—all the space around Brian. The combination of his looks, bewitching and all together perfect, and his cool iceberg attitude, made being around him, no matter how close or far, adrenaline inducing and addictive. He wormed his way under Dom’s skin like an old tattoo, painful in application but unforgettable and necessary to life from here on out.  
  
So if he was considering hopping the gay train with Brian, even if Brian had dated his sister and Dom himself had never been anything other than straight, he would, because natural forces: gravity, attraction, magnetism, all demanded it.  
  
The sorta beaten-up couch in the living room folded out into a queen size bed, but Brian hadn’t made a move to produce new sheets for it, and the course of Dom’s thoughts encouraged him to explore what would happen if he followed Brian back to his bedroom.  
  
Brian didn’t say a word as Dom leaned in the doorway to his bedroom. Instead, he cleared off whatever detritus, magazines, notebooks, miscellaneous parts of some sort that were covering the bed’s spread.  
  
Brian toed off his battered Chucks and tossed them in a far corner. Brian was just as careless with his clothes now as he used to be back then.  
  
Dom rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to proceed to the next point. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do this.” A last ditch effort to give Brian a way out wasn’t his best tactic, but it got Brian looking at him again.  
  
Brian’s look clearly said that he did, indeed, have to do this. For Letty. For Dom. For Mia. He was doing what needed to be done. “You and I both know that we are trying to do the right thing, but we’re still standing on the wrong side of conspiracy to commit murder, incite mayhem and reckless endangerment. Let’s not add illegal border crossing and international jurisdiction violations.” Brian slipped off his shirt carelessly. He balled it up and tossed it across his bedroom. “The difference between us and everyone else is that we knew that once a pot of shit has been stirred up and tipped over, it always flows downhill.”  
  
Though the analogy was true, Dom huffed out a choked laugh at the disgusting imagery. “Yeah, that’s true. We’ve been there and done that, so I guess we already know what’s coming and how to duck and cover.”  
  
Brian turned to him, all white boy golden smooth skin and cocksure realism. “Is that really a bad thing?” Dom’s silence, Brian took as a no. “Sleep?”  
  
With no mention of where, Dom assumed Brian meant the bed. He’d keep assuming otherwise until Brian said so. “I guess we should.”  
  
He repeated Brian’s actions from minutes prior, save for using more care with his stuff. After he unzipped his jeans and folded them over the chair off to the side, he turned around to see Brian staring at him from across the bed. Dom figured if this was the moment to be kicked out; Brian would have said something already instead of simply staring at him.  
  
Dom was used to be staring at. Usually sizing him up, assessing him, calculating or hungry, all stares just the same and he was used to them. Brian’s was absolutely unreadable.  
  
“What?” Dom said, starting to feel the slightest bit unnerved.  
  
Brian left the sheets half turned back and walked around the foot of the bed. Then suddenly, he was larger than life standing in front of Dom with glowing skin and piercing eyes blue like low burning methane flames. “This,” he said finally and without flinching or waiting his fingers traced over the long puckered scar running parallel to Dom’s right collar bone.  
  
“The semi,” Dom answered without hesitation. He hadn’t looked down at Brian’s hand, but felt it along the scar, running over every puckered inch. Brian’s hand was heavy and solid like he expected, but much softer, surprisingly smoother. Still, the mental connection that it was Brian touching him, spurred him to inch forward until Brian’s hand was pressed more fully against his pec.  
  
Now it was his turn to ask a question. “And this?” The touch, invasion of space and looks unable to categorized, all waited for some explanation.  
  
Brian wasn’t so subtle as he licked his lips, now shiny pink and winking up at Dom for attention. “We only get one life, Dee, and sometimes those quarter miles are too short.” And there it was confirmation of everything Dom knew.  
  
Then his mouth was on Brian’s and he was intrigued by the tickle of stubble against his face. Back in the days of him hating Brian, he hadn’t truly hated him. Those feelings had been mired in disappointment and brightly colored by the orange streaks of regret. It was the feeling of being used that stung the most, made him ache, sleepless and more miserable than a caged animal. The thought that Brian had used him burned him inside.  
  
But now, Brian’s hands slid over his chest and his lips opened under Dom’s, making promises by not taking too much, and Dom could forgive and forget, because he had this moment.  
  
When they were toe to toe, he felt all of the differences from what he was used to. Brian was taller, just slightly, than him, and his chest was flat where soft breasts should lay, lean in places of curves, hard where normally soft. But he was hot, vibrating against Dom like a finely tuned engine and purring lowly like a resting Hemi.  
  
Brian wanted him and touched him like he was the one who was going to disappear.  
  
“What do you need, Brian?”  
  
“The same thing you need, Dee. Freedom.”  
  
The bed groaned under their combined weight and the old springs whined when he crawled higher.  
  
Mia’s words from then and now splashed across his mind with the brightness of neon halogens. How could he ever have forgotten her apropos description of him being like gravity? For five years, Brian had been caught in his wake, unable to free himself no matter what he did.  
  
With one word, a tempest brewing between them grew and spilled over and they crashed together. There was no point in trying to distinguish who grabbed whom first. Suddenly, they were tangled together like cosmic forces; they meddled, thunder and lightning, natural and attractive.  
  
Brian lay beneath him, making low purring noises that vibrated across Dom’s body. Kissing was easy. Kissing came naturally to Dom and with Brian, it was as simple as driving automatic, except far more exciting. Brian let him have whatever wanted, opened his mouth to allow Dom to stroke his tongue, taste the sharp bite of lime over the golden crispness of cold Corona. Brian’s mouth was wider and wetter than Dom expected, softer than he could have ever imagined and eager to explore Dom just as intently.  
  
Jesus, he was wound tighter than overwrought nylon rope. Another touch and he would break, completely and totally. Snap from too much torque and plummet to the bottom.  
  
If his mind was capable of multi-tasking by concentrating on something other than the near reverent caress along the back of his neck and across the span of his shoulders; he would be freaking about what came next. Sure, he knew conceptually what two dudes did together but that didn’t mean he knew what he was doing.  
  
Thankful that Brian wasn’t a pushover, Dom was sure that Brian would tell, or better yet show, him where he wanted to be touched. Like Letty. And his heart skipped a painful beat. Brian massaged the base of his skull before skittering his fingers down the muscled valleys and slopes along his back. Back in the moment, Dom shifted his hand down, running fingers purposefully over the smooth terrain of Brian’s chest, breaking the kiss long enough to duck his head lower and tongue soft flat pink nipples, and the sound Brian released was hot, wanting and so needy. Dom figured he couldn’t get any harder.  
  
As always Brian was a contradiction, Dom discovered a tantalizing combination of hard and soft. Each new sound drove Dom to push Brian further, see how much he could take before breaking apart. It should have been weird to feel Brian’s dick trapped between them, jutting into the hollow of Dom’s hip. He backed off then, leaving Brian’s nipples painfully stiff and shiny with spit, aching for more attention and Brian rocked against him, in an effort to capture more friction.  
  
Dom travelled south, evermore captivated by the stark expanse of lean masculine beauty Brian presented. Brian’s stomach was flat with soft ridges and valleys that belied the strength beneath the skin. Dom had never been fascinated by another man’s pelvic cuts or belly button, but Brian’s seemed to be the only introverted part about him. The pelvic cuts seemed to be leading him south, tempting him to get rid of the last layer between him and all of Brian. Dom took the challenge and peeled Brian’s boxers down. If ever it could be said that someone had a pretty cock, it was Brian O’Conner. The fact that Brian was bare around the base made Dom curious. Brian never struck him as the manscaping type, though Brian was impossibly neat and bare almost all over, much more so than Dom tended to be with his own body.  
  
What surprised him was the ink on Brian’s hip. Not just a tattoo, a brand and a small tattoo, aligned perfectly along the neutral ground between the swell of his ass and the slope of his pelvis. His fingers were feather light as they swept over the markings. There had to be some story behind the cryptic moniker _Candy Cane_ and corresponding inked replica of the holiday candy. He already imagined Brian’s lazy grin as he rattled off some drunken tale of being eighteen with a rebellious streak and too much time on his hands.  
  
Brian bucked his hips for attention. He knew exactly what Brian wanted, but he wasn’t quite ready to go all the way. He had no problem wrapping his meaty fist around Brian’s cock and beginning a slow jack as Brian bucked up to meet him. His mouth would be up for grabs later but now was the time to touch and watch Brian react. Brian pursed his lips and bit them near bloody the longer Dom maintained the steady strokes along his cock and interior of his thighs.  
  
As Dom worked the tip, collecting as much precome to keep his palm wet, he reached lower and began a slow massage of Brian’s tight flushed sack. What he got in response was a hiss and bitten back groan, followed by a growled, “Fuck me.” With his long legs spread impossibly wider, and the needy voice saying, “Fuck me…dammit, fuck me,” Brian’s voice came out a harsh snarl and Dom smirked, he could do that. As soon as he released Brian’s dick, he found himself splayed on his back and Brian was straddling his hips like an overly eager cowboy. Brian leaned over him again and kissed him while a diligent hand sought out some lube. He pulled back once a little bottle was in hand.  
  
Dom watched as Brian reached behind himself and used his fingers to work himself open. It was hard to believe that Brian had ever been a cop, let alone a fed, with his head thrown back and lips red, swollen obscenely, and his body taut as he rocked back on his fingers, he looked like a porn star hard at work. If Brian’s hair returned to its blond roots, then shit, Dom would be in trouble. The last functioning parts of his higher brain functions wanted to remind him of the all too missing barrier between them, then his lizard brain spoke up and literally said “fuck that noise” and waited for Brian to finish with his fingers because he wanted next at his ass.  
  
His hands clamped on to Brian’s hips, right over the brand and remained there as Brian finished preparation. Hard and ready for more, Dom maneuvered Brian over his cock, creating enough friction to hold off the real agony of not being touched. Brian made a few more sounds that went straight to Dom’s cock, before leaning forward just to bring his dick flush against Dom’s stomach and Dom steadied him as he reached back for Dom and began to slide down.  
  
There was something so primal and right that shot through Dom as soon as Brian slid fully down on Dom’s dick. Like the rest of him, Dom’s dick was thick and sturdy, making Dom not envy Brian having to adjust to having him inside of it, but damn it, if Brian wasn’t tighter than a virgin with a C clamp snatch.  
  
Then, Brian began to move, slow and steady, up and down, with Dom following along for the ride. He shifted into second and Dom felt like he was going impossibly deep, snapping his hips and lifting until he was drilling Brian like his life depended on it.  
  
Brian arched backwards, his sinewy back curving hard before whipping forward, breathing hard like a Kentucky Derby thoroughbred. His hands fall across Dom’s pecs and he used them for leverage to keep moving. They were both covered in a fine layer of sweat, though the room wasn’t actually hot; this thing—a gravitational pull was building into something colossal, like a star going nova at the edge of the universe. And Dom hung onto Brian, eyes forcibly gazing ahead, memorizing and savoring each second until they hurdled to the finish. Somewhere between Dom wrapping his hand around Brian to bring him off and feeling Brian grow infinitesimally tighter, he saw a smile, a not-quite totally blessed out expression that crossed Brian’s face and seared itself into Dom’s memory.  
  
He would always remember that he did that. Dom threw his head back and roared like thunder passing over a flat plain, and tightened his grip on Brian’s slim hips as he shot off his spunk like rocket bursts. Brian kept going, rising and falling at break neck speed, fisting his own cock now, despite Dom’s offered assistance, and he too fell into a pulse-racing climax, while Dom held him steady until he came down. White stripes of spunk were splashed across Dom’s hazelnut skin in raunchy homage to anything Jackson Pollack.  
  
There was no blaming the alcohol for this. Not with the way Dom’s hand pressed possessively into the small of his back or the hand twined tightly into the hair at the base of his neck. This was inevitable. The moment Brian and Dom were thrust into each other’s lives, this was the cosmic solution to extreme forces meeting.  
  
“Dom…” Brian began, paused and searched for something to say other than the small sounds escaping his lips.  
  
It had been a long time since he had macked like a kid. Brian had that effect of making him brainless and stupid. Everything about Brian felt and tasted different and each new sensation made him want more, as much of Brian as he could get. Despite the need for sleep, they were far from done.  
  
The night gave way to the day. They slept when the sky was at its darkest. The hours prior didn’t feel like a punctuation to the story of Brian and Dom, but a space holder for what would come later, and damn it, if Dom sincerely prayed that he’d get a later.  
  
They slept until the sun was just out of reach of dawn.


	2. Two

Dom kneeled over Brian, his hands pressed against the gusher low on Brian’s side. Around them, the wreckage of former classics ticked and smoldered, but remained wholly silent. Dom looked down at Brian whose smile hovered on the wrong side of punch-drunk with blue eyes looking glassier by the second.  
  
Brian leaned heavily against the baby puke green Camaro and did his best to keep the strain from each movement off his face. “You know I could have taken you in that last race.” He said, squinting up at Dom.  
  
Dom grabbed his knee, righting him as gently as he could against the side of the car. “Now I know you hit your head,” Dom said, disbelievingly.  
  
In the distance, an army of vehicles full of feds were racing towards them.  
  
Brian turned towards the noise and frowned. The look was not caused by a spike in pain; reality was coming back into focus with full high def color and sound. The gravity of the titanic bitchslap that was set fall on them would have gotten him on his feet, if he could have moved.  
  
“You know you could just go.” Brian had taken the heat before and he could do it again.  
  
Dom grasped Brian’s bloodied fingers. “Not this time,” there was no escaping what was inevitable and they both knew it.  
  
Brian opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly smartass, when he lunged forward and began to convulse. The blue disappeared from Brian’s eyes, leaving a terrifying white in its place, and Brian fell on his side, jerking and seizing uncontrollably in the dirt. The only time a body should go from zero to sixty was when riding in a vehicle of some sort.  
  
Hovering around him, Dom watched somewhat helplessly as Brian flopped like a marionette. He turned towards the sound of the approaching cop cars, hoping for the first time that they’d arrive sooner than later.  
  
“Please God, fuck, stop. Please stop,” Dom ordered, after placing his hands around Brian’s head. Mia was the would-be- doctor in the family and she would know what to do, but she wasn’t here and all those facts that she’d painstakingly crammed into her head weren’t going to magically appear inside of Dom’s by any stretch of the imagination. He knew well enough to try to stabilize Brian’s head, so that Brian didn’t flail about and slice his head open on the car behind him.  
  
Just as abruptly as the seizure began, it stopped; what had probably only lasted less than sixty seconds seemed to be an eternity in Dom’s eyes. Even with the reprieve from shaking, the ominous caravan of Feds was too far for Dom’s liking. A seizure was the last thing he would have expected, then again, he wasn’t a doctor and didn’t know shit about head injuries.  
  
He began to stroke Brian’s cheeks in effort to get him to wake. Lines of loose sand painted Brian’s cheeks in the trails left by Dom’s fingers. He looked like he sported tribal war paint. He focuses on the gradually relaxing rise and fall of Brian’s chest, making it obvious that Brian was breathing just fine. Never had he wanted to see Brian’s ridiculous baby blues more than now.  
  
Like from his lips to God’s ears, his wish was fulfilled and began with a cough. With lips parted, Brian inhaled a large draw of air and his eyelashes fluttered once, before beating a hummingbird staccato against his cheek.  
  
“Come on, Bri, open your eyes,” Dom encouraged, without letting Brian’s head go. “Let me see those baby blues.” He could imagine how listless it would sag and the idea provoked a near sick reaction in him. Blue eyes emerged hazy and unfocused, but awake nonetheless. Dom felt rather stupid asking, “Are you okay?” but what else was he supposed to ask?  
  
Brian’s eyes turned up to him then blinking hard against the bright desert sun. His eyes lingered over Dom’s face and Dom was reminded of the night before, and the cryptic look that seemed to faze him just a bit. Completely inscrutable was what Brian’s gaze was, but the longer it lingered the more Dom was convinced someone wasn’t at home, even if Brian hadn’t said a word just yet. The lights seemed to be on upstairs, but there wasn’t a soul in the building. Not even the too bright sunshine got him to blink. Brian just stared at Dom like a dead statue.  
  
When Brian’s gaze strayed from Dom’s face to the wreckage around them, Dom decided to spare a glance at the approaching cavalry. Brian rolled head his head a little, experimentally in a small circle, taking in the general sweep of the open desert. Above the bent chassis, Dom could make out a series of black vans headed their way, the sort that were just now becoming popular in America, though having been staples in Europe and most of Asia for years.  
  
Dom focused Brian’s eyes on him again. Once he was again the recipient of Brian’s poker face, Dom prodded, “You with me, Bri?” Because silent treatment was becoming way fucking creepy, since it didn’t strike him as the usual thing someone did after having their brain waves derailed by a seizure.  
  
The tension that held Brian upright noticeably leeched away, leaving Brian as a sagging mess in Dom’s arms. Brian’s bloodied fingertips reached out to touch Dom’s face, first his cheek then this brow. His mouth curved in a small smile. “Did I fall asleep?”  
  
Frowning, Dom replayed the question in his head. Something was off about Brian’s voice. Whether it was the pitch or intonation of his words, Dom couldn’t decipher; all he knew was that Brian didn’t sound like Brian. “Naw, your brain just got scrambled. Don’t worry though, your buddies are almost here and they’ll take care of you.”  
  
The blood on Brian’s fingers became apparent then, as Brian looked first to the blood staining his hands and then down at himself. “I’m hurt,” he said like it was a big surprise. “Can you help me? If you help me, I can be my best.”  
  
That sixth sense that had served Dom well in the past when situation went south was blaring like firehouse bell. Brian’s vacant eyed act was seriously wigging him out. Seizures were serious business, causing all sorts of problems, but Dom hadn’t been expecting this.  
  
Figuring he had to say something to the sate Brian’s wide-eyed curiosity, Dom said, “Yeah, Bri, help is coming. Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”  
  
Speak of the devil; two black vans skidded to a halt in the sand. Before the first was fully stopped a smartly dressed dude emerged from the van. His sharp gaze swept over the scene searching for one thing in particular; the moment he saw Brian, he took off in a run.  
  
Up close, Dom could sense that this Redbone dude wasn’t a typical Fed. For one thing, he moved more carefully, with the same caution that preceded danger. The moment he saw Dom, he pulled his .45 from his interior coat pocket and didn’t look like he had the intention to mirandize him when it was aimed squarely at Dom’s head. Like he figured, the guy was dangerous.  
  
With surrendering arms placed above his head, Dom looked from Fed to Brian , indicating with a point of his elbow how bad off Brian was. “I can’t back up, cuz he’s hurt.”  
  
Red Bone with the gun assessed Brian’s condition with a scrutinizing eyeball and his lips pursed into a hard line. “I need med assistance,” he called to the assembling suites behind him.  
  
Brian looked up at the guy and smiled, a huge bright mega-white grin that made Dom nervous. “I’m hurt. I’m sorry I wasn’t my best,” he said again. “Dee helped,” he smiled loopy and easy Dom’s way.  
  
Red Bone’s hard glare softened immensely, even his tone changed from something less brutal than ‘I –will-fuck-up-you-more-ways-than-you-can-count’ and transitioned to vaguely paternal sounding. It was comfort all the same. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll make you better, just stay still.”

Brian complied without a blink. He just remained still when the black suited vultures descended on him into braces and a back board. He caught Dom’s eye as they lifted him into one of the vans, before they shut the doors, Brian waved to him, small and controlled. Then, the doors slammed shut blocking any other views of him.

The .45 was not longer pointed at his head, but Red Bone hadn’t let it go yet as the rest of his team fanned out over the scene. As they wrapped up their diligent investigation, Dom turned to the man with the gun and asked, “Is Brian going to be okay?”

For a second, the guy looked at him like he’d just pulled the rug out from under him. He tried to recover the stoic ground that he had, but Dom had seen that small grain of truth cloud over his face. “Yes, he’ll be just fine.”

When the last suit slipped back into the van, he looked down at Dom once again. “You on the other hand have reached the end of the road.” Dom didn’t see blackness straight away after the hit, he saw Brian waving goodbye, and then his face hit the dirt.

* * *

It amused Dom that the largest police force in the world still relied on analog clocks. For all the billions undoubtedly poured into the agency, the choice to keep the three armed ticking clocks had to be a strategic maneuver like a less messy form of water torture, though still bent on screwing with suspects’ minds or something with the steady tick down of seconds.

Since he had nothing to hide, Dom was unexpectedly sitting cool. Whatever Brian had set-up for him, some sort of parlay was in effect, and no one had so much as looked at him wrong.

A cutesy little Asian agent named Trinh had come in not long after they settled him into the interview room. The room was a total upgrade compared to the busted LAPD pseudo-interrogation torture chambers where cops that had watched too much tv tried to intimidate perps with their over dramatic and overwhelmed renditions of “Good Cop, Bad Cop”. Then again, Dom conjectured, this was probably the Hilton Suite of interrogation rooms for non-threatening, cooperative low flight risk witnesses.

He smiled. Low risk flight risk didn’t sound very much like Dominic Toretto. Over the last few years, he’d flown so much; he should’ve been born with a set of tires on his ass.

As another hour ticked by, he began to grow tense. The wait was turning into a none too easy one.

Dom wasn’t a snitch by any means, but Braga had broken far too many street codes for Dom to keep his mouth shut. He would gladly provide whatever testimony was needed to put Braga down hard. He surely doubted that Braga was getting half as nice accommodations as he was.

That _pendejo_ was lucky that Feds didn’t carry night sticks, because it wouldn’t take a psychic to predict a heavy-handed ass whooping in his future had that been the case. The thought of Braga riding out the sharp stings of several hard whacks to the head actually elicited a small smile from Dom. But Feds had better access to tasers and shit, and would probably get pretty damn creative if they chose to do so.

Despite what Brian said the night before, Dom was pretty sure Brian had enough influence to get Braga fucked over royally. Dom couldn’t say that he would be unhappy if that should be the case. Braga needed to get his after what he’d done to Letty, Brian and all the other poor suckers that thought they were getting a sweet deal.

He leaned back in his chair, his back slumping under the stress of the day and the prolonged stress of waiting. Trinh and crew haven’t even handcuffed him after they ushered him inside. Her visit according to the clock, forty-seven minutes prior, brought him a doctor who checked on his scratches, scrapes and the throbbing goose egg along his temple.

Braga was slightly luckier. He hadn’t been bludgeoned with the butt of a .45, though he did look worse than Dom felt, like he’d been through an industrial dryer and lost. Dom wondered what the suit had done to Braga once he was out cold, since he hadn’t been able to ask anyone else for details.

The course of his thoughts slowed to halt as the door to the interrogation room opened. Trinh stepped through along with an older man, white, tall, and a little north of middle age. She carried a couple of plastic crates with her. As far as he could see they were full of files, while the man carried a laptop and pulled a roller briefcase behind him. Trinh gave him a small smile, before turning back to the open door. She disappeared for a couple of seconds and returned with a carafe of coffee, a couple of bottles of juice and water.

She slid a two of the bottles across the table to him. “How’s the head?” She asked with a reasonable amount of concern in her voice.

Dom’s fingers skirted the knot near his temple. “Feels like someone pistol-whipped me.”

The two agents shared a look. “Well, sorry about that, um, we can get you some aspirin,” which Dom waved off. “If you’re hungry, we can order some food, as this interview will take some time.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Dom said. “But first, how’s O’Conner. I haven’t heard anything since I got here.”

Again, the agents shared a look. If there was one thing Dom hated, it was being left out of the loop. It was one thing to be a part of the silent conversation, entirely another to be on the outside looking in while plans and schemes like planes, trains and automobiles flew silently over head and out of reach. Their silence was ominous enough to tickle the nerves on the back of his neck and coil a thread of panic in his belly.

Finally, the male agent, Penning, his badge read, nodded stiffly. “Don’t know,” he said.

Trinh turned back to him. “I’ll find out for you.” Though she didn’t sound very enthusiastic about the task.

Deducing as much from what he’d seen, Dom figured that agents Penning and Trinh might be some of the salty haters that Brian had told him about. Even if they didn’t like him, one would think that they would still be concerned about a fellow agent being hurt.

This would have been an opportune time to act like a dick, but if Dom knew one thing, it was to not piss off the po-po when there really was nowhere to run.

He crossed his arms over his chest and his face became stiff like a granite mask. “Where do you want to begin?” His voice was pitched low and rumbled through his chest. Yeah, he could see the vague spark of intimidation flash in Penning’s eyes, surprisingly.

Dom looked badass. He was a badass and it was best if they didn’t forget that, despite his cooperative turn.

With a hard-edge grin, he asked, “Where do we begin?”

~*~*~*~

The analog clock told him six hours had passed since the interview had begun. They’d been over his story three times, with interruptions in between for questions and elaborations. As Trinh packed up and Penning prepared to have Dom escorted to a cell until the next morning, Dom had begun to get more hardedge as his questions about Brian were evaded.

Trinh and Penning had checked their phones frequently throughout the interrogation and each had been called out of the room at several times. If they were holding off telling him something about Brian with the intention of extorting more information from him, then they would find that their plan was flawed. He’d told them everything that they needed to know. “So are you going to tell him about O’Conner or not?” He’d been waiting all day.

Dom placed his hands firmly on the table and stared the pair down. “I’ve answered every question and haven’t asked _one_ in return, except about O’Conner. ‘S only fair that you give me something in return. Give me that much at least.”

Penning slipped his hands under his jacket and placed them on his hips like an overgrown boy scout. “As soon as we know something, we will let you know,” he said authoritatively.

With an arched brow angled in suspicion, Dom asked, “How hard is it to find out?” Because a simple call was all that it took these days to reach out and touch someone.

Penning’s face flushed a mild red, his jaw held at a stubborn angle, which brought memories of watching Cool Hand Luke to mind. Dom’s logical side, which sounded a lot like Mia, told him not to push; the irrational part of him that goaded him on to prickle the agent’s nerves sounded like a sweet duet of Letty and Brian, and egged him on to needle the guy; see just how far he could up the ante before the older agent folded or snapped back.

Penning opened his mouth-- paused, allowing some of that notorious cool of the G-Men to resettle. “Mr. Toretto, we understand that this has been a trying time for you. It is a difficult time for all of us. We truly appreciate your cooperation and we will follow up on your request. We are anxious to have an update on the health of a fellow agent,” said Penning as he rose and buttoned his suit jacket. So smooth and methodical, Dom wondered if his words had been part of a script the higher-ups were forced to memorize.

If not for the too shiny gleam in Trinh’s eyes, Dom would have wagered that she was just as hardboiled and rigid as Penning. It was almost as if they didn’t—he kept the thought at bay, though it bobbed in rotated elliptically around his thoughts, and it was a scary.

_Almost like theydidn’t care about Brian one way or another._

Brian said the LAPD had a hard-on for his blood. The Feds too apparently. The jury might have been out on whether his suspicion was actually true. In the end it didn’t matter, his gut said he was right and his gut was hardly ever wrong.

Simmering anxiety gave way to full blown rage. Fist clenched so tightly that his blunt nails nearly successfully drew blood to the surface. He leveled a hard stare at them, watched them turn their backs and exit the room, and it took all of Dom’s will not to call them on it before they shut the door.

Something was different with this scenario. For one, he was playing ball. He’d experienced his share of being locked up and getting interrogated, never by the Feds though, which was turning out to be a pretty sweet set-up, minus the overwhelming ‘tude in the place. Never as a cooperating witness either.

Trinh followed Penning out the room and remained dutifully behind him as he delivered his orders to the suited men hovering in front of the door. He would never call himself an expert at understanding human logic, but body language was something that he was more than fluent in.

The look Trinh cast over her shoulder was soft around the edges, empathetic even. But wary, cautious and above all, stubborn, demanding that he cool it and just sit tight. Tell him _don’t push Penning or any of the others_ , because he simply wasn’t in a position to push. Which meant that she really didn’t know, hadn’t read his jacket from cover to cover, because Dominic Toretto pushed people and things like he drove, hard, fast and deliberately.

As Suit One and Suit Two got him up and handcuffed again for his journey to his special accommodations, his mind could only focus on Brian, the black van and the face of the dude that had tried his best to crack his skull open like an egg.

Far be it from him to tell Brian how to live his life, but Feds hadn’t inspired any additional confidence in him--just the same feeling of semi-righteous anger and disgust. But Trinh’s look he couldn’t shake. Dom couldn’t let go of the feeling that he’d just stood toe to toe with a viper waiting to strike and had been released from its thrall at the last possible second.

This thing with Brian hadn’t popped up over night. They’d been connected by a loose tether even before Brian had walked back into his life. After that night…had it only been just last night? The night full of too much beer triggering confessions to be whispered over skin, he was more than a little emotionally invested in Brian, so he couldn’t let this go. This feeling that clung to him screamed that he was the only one watching Brian’s back.

The Suits led him through a series of corridors, a maze of glass and steel, to an elevator and another tunnel at the end of which was darkness. It was easy to forget that hours had passed when trapped inside a building recalling hours and seconds of memory.

They led him down into the motor pool and the selection of cars was slightly more impressive than the vehicles in the impound lot Brian showed him. Safe to say that despite the Feds loading their building with a bunch of new tech, most of the cars were the standard law enforcement Crown Vicks with a few new shiny Dodge numbers having found their way into the lot.

No black package delivery vans though.

Nothing that looked like the van that had scooped Brian up either.

~*~*~*~

It was late that time had reoriented itself towards early when the Suits handed him off to the corrections officers. The expressions on the officers face who checked him and proceeded to take him through _welcome to jail and this is how you don’t piss us off during the duration of your stay_ made him feel like he was back in familiar surroundings, albeit a place that he never wanted to see again. It was still better than Lompoc by millions of miles.

After he was outfitted with his jailhouse scrubs, he scowled down at himself. He had never been a fan of orange. Yet prison uniforms were destined to be ugly and privacy was only to be found in solitary. Such were certainties of life inside.

The block they placed him in was empty, save for the cells at the opposite end of the row in front of him. The guard who escorted him to his cell was a tall heavy set black woman with the proportions that said she had a lot of admirers in the real world and that in here, if she had to hit someone with her baton, it would hurt, badly.

Dom walked into his cell. When the door closed, the old steel rattled, echoing off the emptiness of the block, he swallowed and did his best to snuff out that rolling shiver that crept down his spine. He placed his hands through the slot in the door, so that Officer S. Carter, her nameplate read, could disengage the handcuffs.

She looked at him through the window in the door. Her eyes mapped his face and her mouth tightened as she came to some decision. The way she mapped his face with her deep brown eyes clearly said, without uttering a word that she would not take any bullshit from him reminded him of Letty through and through.

God, he missed her. Like a bullet in the back, he would always feel her, even if it wasn’t as painful and the sting less sharp; she would forever be a part of him. Brian wasn’t replacing her. No one could do that. The thing with Brian, rather than replacing what was already in residence inside his chest, it just solidified the connection they’d already been sharing by giving it the chance to grow and fill its rightful space.

She slipped her cuffs back on her belt and said, “I’m Officer Carter, and you and me, Toretto, are going to spending a lot of time together. I know you’ve gotten the rules and from the look of you, I can tell this isn’t your first time here, so.”

Dom held his hands up in placation. “ ‘m not here to start trouble, just waiting my turn to see a judge.”

“Good to know,” she said before walking away. Carter returned shortly, pulling something heavy that had a loud squeaky wheel behind her. It was one of those tall food carts. “Don’t think you’re going to get any preferential treatment around here, cuz I promise you’ll be disappointed.”

A plastic tray filled the slot, loaded with a sandwich-snack-juice combination that would have been sneered at even when he was seven years old.

He learned long ago that treating the guards with respect, in particular the ones that didn’t go out of their way to be assholes and the female guards, was the key to making one’s time as a resident of the state of whateverbe better than it could be. “I’m not expecting much of anything, Ma’am.” And he did his best to look sincere when he told her, “Thanks.”

She tipped her heard in assent. “You’re welcome. Bottomline, Toretto: You treat me with respect and I’ll do the same. We clear?”

“Crystal.”

Carter turned to push the cart away. “Alright, place the tray in the slot and lights out in ten,” she said and marched away.

Dom wasn’t all that hungry. Trinh and Penning had fed him over the course of their chitchat, so it wasn’t like he was starving. Instead, his stomach was mired in a constant churn. The anticipation was bubbling inside and hadn’t dissipated in the least after his talk with Mia. That phone call, the one that all arrested persons are supposed to get, didn’t come up until much later in the conversation. She promised to get him a lawyer after checking on Brian and let him know what was happening as soon as she could. That call had been hours ago. He wouldn’t hear anything until later in the morning, when sun was actually shining, at the earliest.

So with reluctance, Dom unwrapped the sandwich. He’d keep the juice and snack, which appeared to be some form of fruit suspended in liquid for later.

The sandwich appeared to be turkey with some variation of the American cheese singles inserted between the slices of bread. Not a fan of orange things that didn’t move fast, he tossed the cheese aside. Something about the shallowness of the taste had always struck him as artificial. He took a bite, chewed slowly and paused, because there was something else in his mouth besides bread, lettuce, turkey and wilted tomato..

Between a slice of orange cheese and turkey was a spot of white. Apparently, someone slipped a note into his sandwich. Maybe Braga. Maybe not.

Dom spat out the semi-chewed blob of what barely passed as a turkey sandwich. Nothing stood out about the slip of paper. Bleached white crisp, just like any other piece of paper from an office supply store. Using caution Dom peeled off the layers of the sandwich. Wedged between the two layers of tragically sad lettuce sat a folded white rectangle of paper with a formerly neat corner marred by the perfect outline of Dom’s teeth.

He took a covert glance around his cell. These weren’t the usual cells of old County lock-up that were open to all and a sundry; instead, he had privacy provided by the concrete walls between the cells and the solid steel door trapping him inside the cell like a rat.

This was some James Bond shit. Maybe Braga was trying to rattle his cage, get some last minute kick before the Feds put his ass through a meat grinder. Not like he wouldn’t expect that to be the case. He was turning snitch and a guy like Braga wasn’t tuned to let snitches go.

Dom opened the note anyway, prepared as much as possible for the words hidden inside.

_Forget Brian O’Conner_

“What the…fuck,” he scowled. Of all the things, he expected to read, this hadn’t been on the list.

Dom went to the door and peered out and down the hall. Nothing was amiss; Carter sat behind her station, head bowed over work and coming up every so often to sweep the hall. The other cells appeared dark, but were too far from Dom’s cell for him to make any distinctions.

Of all the things he was capable of doing, forgetting about Brian wasn’t one of them. He didn’t like to be dicked with, not like this at least, and he hoped Mia had some answers soon.

As the lights went off over his head, plunging him into darkness, Dom folded the note and slid it into his sock, and put the tray where he was instructed. The shoddy mattress made worse by the thin bed frame groaned beneath his back as he lay down.

In Lompoc, he’d learned how to revel in the darkness and lose himself in it. Here, sleep would be hard coming with questions and worries circling inside his head. His thoughts were like a dead end road with no exit, beginning and ending with Brian O’Conner.


	3. Three

At the end of the road, the earth met sky, and the tires---rounded and worn but hungry to devour the arid road. Cracks, like spindly spiders crawled through the concrete—gray and faded from thousands of days of endless sun, didn’t interrupt the path, which was well and truly endless.  
  
Dom couldn’t see the end of it. The stretch seemed infinite like those old math problems that used to make so much sense to him back in eleventh grade. Infinite, endless, forever—the type of road that any real driver was destined to take for the journey rather than the destination.  
  
At the end, where the bodies of the world seemed to merge, was a wall of blue. And if he squinted enough, it was just the same shade as Brian’s arresting set.  
  
The sun beamed down hot--not scorching, comfortable and soothing, while the wind whipped around them like a flag riding the breeze. With the Deuce’s top down, there wasn’t much being left to the imagination, even if she was a real lady and all; a Deuce and a Quarter always deserved to be treated as such.  
  
Like any big beautiful woman, she was slightly temperamental, but nevertheless confident in clean curving lines and aggressive in putting her best assets on display. His dad used to say that the Deuce was the only lady who could get away with taking her top off in public. And boy, was she letting it all hang out—engine purring, color gleaming and wheels tearing through clear miles of road. Beside him, Brian laughed, and his voice was open, wide and so damn expansive that his grin just kept going.  
  
Dom felt his own smile emerge, pulling gently at the corners of his mouth slowly catching up with Brian’s contagious laughter. The Deuce was designed for low riding and gentle cruising—not racing; she was all about appearances, being seen and heard in such a way that people would be foolish to ignore her voice: her raspy song, a low rumbling purr from her Nailhead V8. She was a real beauty that had it going on from front to back with two sleek doors with silver handles that always appeared to be begging for attention.  
  
Such a lady that the two surf boards hanging out the back didn’t detract from her majesty. And Dom could admit that Brian and the Deuce shared a close affinity in their blatantly apparent prettiness, but despite the impact of Brian’s easy smiles and pretty blue eyes, there was no way in hell that Dom’s big ass would find its way on a flimsy piece of wood. He was bold, not stupid. Concrete, dirt and asphalt he could handle; the ocean was another beast all together, one that hadn’t been a big part of their lives in Echo Park.  
  
He had said just as much to Brian, who rolled his eyes and threw a few snarky promises at him that Dom would, in fact, get his big ass to ride a surf board and on top of all of that, like it, before the day was done. Dom wanted to hook his arm around Brian’s shoulder, pull him close as they drove further towards the horizon and tell him that he was lucky that Brian was fearless enough for the two of them in this situation.  
  
Then Dom looked over at Brian to tell him just that. A tilt of his head and he caught Brian already staring at him, talking, but the words were suddenly drowned out, like being trapped beneath water, each word was muffled. Brian continued talking as if he didn’t realize Dom couldn’t hear him—lips curling and twisting over words with flashes of white teeth making pauses in the flow of silent shit talking.  
  
Dom pumped the brakes in an effort to slow the car down, but the Deuce kept going, now only faster, hurdling through the dirt to a destination miles and miles away at the edge of the world. Brian continued to talk, completely ignorant of the swelling Doppler Effect and the distorted echoes of his voice, and Dom said, “Brian.”  
  
His voice bounced off the wind. So again he said, “Brian,” and heard his voice be drowned out.  
  
“Brian!” Dom yelled again and this time his voice broke through the invisible wall and the car stopped, kicking up a spray of red dust and rock as it gave way to inertia. Dom opened his mouth to speak, to ask what the hell was happening, when he realized Brian was no longer across from him on the bench seat.  
  
Suddenly, he was just _there_ ; Brian was beside him. Hot breath tinted by whispers of spearmint and cigarettes ghosted over the side of his face, coming to rest beside Dom’s ear. Dry soft lips dragged a lingering kiss down the shell of Dom’s ear. Dom wanted to turn, to look at Brian and see him up close because his lusty blue eyes filled a craving that sank deeper into Dom every day.  
  
But he couldn’t move, and Brian pressed closer, hot, hard and demanding with the intention of crawling over Dom if he could.  
  
“Bri--”  
  
Brian wrapped his long fingers over the bottom half of Dom’s face. And all Dom could focus on was the cool, dry feel of Brian’s lean fingers. “Wake up, Dom,” he said, drawing his nose across the sweep of Dom’s cheek, “I’m the only one allowed to sleep around here.”  
  
The wall of sound rose again like a curtain, dampening anything else Brian might have said. Dom reached for him as he began to pull back. “Bri…” his voice dragging sleepily.  
  
Brian stared at him, hard and unwavering. The tone of his voice was unmistakably cool, dry like the sand scattering the ground beyond the car. “Wake up, Toretto,” he said, suddenly, and winked out.  
  
Dom’s eyes snapped open, revealing cracked and bubbling white paint smoothed over lumpy concrete. There was no blue sky, no clouds, no fresh air or wide open spaces. Just the sound of slamming doors and approaching feet dragged him back into a harsh reality.  
  
He lay on his flimsy pillow breathing low and shallow breaths, trying to calm his heart that beat out a frantic staccato that made his chest ache like a man forty years older. His chest felt more conflicted than his brain after the head-rush of escaping the eerie dreamscape.  
  
Telling himself that it was just a dream was easy, but hollow. Feeling the note from the night before rubbing against the hairs on his ankle made a lead ball form in the pit of his stomach.  
  
“Just a dream,” he mumbled. The shock of waking up in jail had gotten into his head-- that was all. It was hard jolt to reality, like a bucket of ice water taken straight to the face. Add his persistent _feeling_ of general unease when it came to the renewed silence about Brian, then he was entitled to have his dreams go a little sideways on him.  
  
A different CO opened his cell door. This time it was a short guy with rather nondescript features. The type of face that was mostly forgettable, save for arrogance in each step. He walked with a chip on his shoulder, not the justifiable kind like Carter, who carried a big stick and a long fuse when carrying it. This one struck Dom as a police academy drop out, who felt the sting of it every day. Miller, the pissy CO, who seemed a bit baton happy, was eager to remind anyone sassing him that they were on the low end of the shitpole.  
  
Dom figured keeping his distance was best. Between calls for showers, breakfast and rec time, Dom had a chance to size up his blockmates, which left him less than impressed. Dom wasn’t a big talker anyway, so doing his best impression of a living rock, sending out vibes that said _fuck off, I bite_ , was an easy way to keep any of them from getting too close or trying to ask him any questions.  
  
Week One in jail was somewhat eventful. He met his lawyer, some arrogant snotty Ivy League bastard that tried to talk to Dom like he was all muscle and no brain, who swept through their first meeting without leaving Dom with much confidence in his skills.  
  
He knew Mia probably called in a favor or two and got the best she could on their dime, but this prick was a second away from meeting Dom’s fist. Arrogant dick.  
  
In theory, his lawyer-- Halcòn was supposed to be there to help him, but the prick wouldn’t shut about how big this case could be. The moment the words _Letty_ , _spin_ and _romantic revenge_ fell out of the guys ever-flapping mouth, Dom was more than done with that jerk-off.  
  
He felt like Donald Trump as he told the wannabe Armani wearer with a briefcase that he was fired. The guy ran out in a huff of red cheeks and too much CK One while muttering about Dom’s ass getting fifty years for just being stupid. Never had a slammed door been so welcomed.  
  
Dom wasn’t alone for long.  
  
The next time he was escorted from his cell, he was taken back to a private meeting room and forced to wait. When the door opened, a very dark skin black woman came though the doorway. If she was there to audition for the job as his lawyer, she had it, because she looked like she didn’t take shit off of anyone. He also liked her haircut, which was almost as smooth and neat as his head. Any lady who wanted to rock a bald or a really close shave had guts in spades. And he could dig it.  
  
She gave him a hard look from head to toe, and he knew exactly how this was going to roll. There wouldn’t be any handshaking at the start of this meeting.  
  
She stood at full attention behind the chair across from Dom. “I’m Agent Loomis. Director Penning tasked me with collecting more information from you, Mr. Toretto.” She flashed her badge at him to show proof that she was who said she was and she slipped it back into her coat.  
  
He gestured at the chair indicating that she could sit. The thing about jail was that there was always time. If they didn’t do this now, get these questions answered, it would have to wait until later.  
  
She kept her eyes trained on Dom as her hands removed the documents from her attaché case. “Do you want to wait for you lawyer?” Agent Loomis asked and his eyebrow and lips twitched simultaneously. “You have rights,” she reminded him bluntly.  
  
Dom shook his head and made an abortive attempt to laugh. His voice sounded more like a rusty croak. “No offense, but that prick isn’t my lawyer. So you can ask away, it’s not like I’m going tell you about anything that you don’t already know.”  
  
“All right,” Agent Loomis shrugged, “There are just a few more questions from me, at least. But I can guarantee you that I won’t be the last agent to talk to you in the upcoming weeks and months.”  
  
The idea of weeks and months inside a cage chipped away at him. He hadn’t broken down in Lompoc; there was no way County would do what maximum security couldn’t. “Makes sense. To get everything while it’s fresh and on the surface, I mean. So fire away.” He told her.  
  
They spent the next two hours going back and forth in a way that wasn’t entirely hostile. Agent Loomis asked her questions and Dom answered. She asked for clarification, if necessary and they kept on rolling. Finally, she put her hands together and gave him a small smile, “Looks like I’ve got everything. I wish other CI’s were as forthright as you, Mr. Toretto. Would save me a lot of time and energy.”  
  
He really wanted to stretch his legs. Sitting so long was uncomfortable and boring, and went against his natural need to be in constant motion. “It was easy. Unlike your other CI’s I got nothing to hide, so I don’t have a problem talking to you.”  
  
She nodded, appreciatively. Agent Loomis made a move to rise and stopped herself, “You have any questions for me?” She asked. It was refreshing to see someone else believed in turnabout being fair play and whatnot. “I could see about getting you’re a decent court appointed lawyer if you need it,” Loomis managed to offer. From what he could tell, the offer was completely sincere.  
  
“Naw, I’m good. My sister is arranging someone for me.” He smiled at her. Dom gave her one of his rare, truly genuine smiles that won just as many people over to his side as his driving. “Maybe, you could put in a word about leniency? Say I learned my lesson and am ready to be a good citizen again.”  
  
Loomis grinned in return. “We’re working on that, trust me.”She rose smooth and fluidly from her chair. “You’ve been so cooperative that I’m sure things will work out in your favor. Anything else?”  
  
Instinct told him not to ask, to remember the note in his sock, and simply shake his head to decline. But the memory of the uncanny dream made him ask anyway. “Have you heard anything about Agent O’Conner?”  
  
The eyes always betrayed a person when they’re lying. Agent Loomis’ eyes tightened at the corners as Dom watched the way her eyebrows raised imperceptibly as if she was trying to place the name to no avail. “Trinh and Penning told me they would check on him,” Dom added, just to show that his question should be considered imperative. “Haven’t heard anything, so I figured I’d ask again.”  
  
Agent Loomis hummed in the back of her throat as she tried to recall the name. “Can’t say I know of any O’Conner, but I’ll ask. Trinh won’t be working on this case anymore; she’s been reassigned, so I’m one of the faces you’ll be seeing from now on.” She knocked on the door to the meeting room to alert the CO that she was ready to leave. “You take care, Toretto. Would be a shame to lose one like you.”  
  
“Will do,” he replied as he watched her go.  
  
Miller escorted him back to the rec area. Dom called Mia, giving her a heads up about the lawyer and made sure to tell her that he was doing okay. Lunch came and went along with the opportunity for Dom to experiment with fish sticks that bared an uncanny resemblance to Lincoln Logs. He ate the foods on his tray that were easy recognizable and not processed, last thing he wanted was to end up a butterball like some of the guys that passed through here.  
  
When lunch was over, Dom returned to his cell, having not said a word. He had several options: one, he could lay on his bed, but he might succumb to the urge to sleep, which always ill advised when the sun was still up and the prisoners could come and go as they pleased; two, he could find a deck of cards and play solitaire; three, find a pen and paper and start working up the specs for the a Buick Electra 225 he’d actually seen on the street, when the feds were bringing him over, or new mods for the ’84 Buick GNX he’d had in the DR; and fourth, there was the note.  
  
Not that he could do much with it. It wasn’t like he was one of those experts on the Discovery Channel or freaking CSI. Looking at the note would provide him with some reassurance that he hadn’t dreamed up the whole espionage angle and that his steadily mounting paranoia was justified.  
  
After settling back on his cot with his back pressed against the wall, Dom watched the hall. Minutes ticked by with no one walking past. It was as good a time as any to read the note. He pulled it out of his sock, finding that it looked the same in better light. The script in the center of the note was blunt, neat and tall with curves at the apex of several letters, making it hard to determine whether the writer was actually male or female.  
  
Despite not being able to discern the sex of the author, Dom was sure that the message was meant for him. For what purpose, he didn’t know. And every bit of concern for Brian ran parallel with his natural desire to be free because Brian also needed freedom like air. He refolded the note and slipped it inside his sock again.  
  
The hours ticked past bringing a near close to another day in jail. Boredom was a relentless creature, one that seemed to suck the life out of all those caught behind these immoveable walls. The monotony wore down even the best of men.  
  
A second week passed before Dom knew it, then another and another. Finally, he counted sixty-eight days inside the Towers. Sixty-eight endless days locked inside a box. Sixty-eight days without word about Brian.  
  
His strategy of being a living statue could have become a real pastime with the way time seemed to lose its real weight and measure; it flowed in a rhythm that was counter to all its natural progression. Dom had been half sleeping, always haunted by Brian’s muffled voice and the ultimate whisper telling him to wake up. The burden of the note almost burned his skin wherever it touched.  
  
It was almost chowtime again when CO Carter stepped in front of his cell. “See you made it through another day,” she observed bluntly, “Good for you, though I should tell you that you shouldn’t get used to special treatment and such.”  
  
Dom’s brow rose in silent question. Carter made a gesture that he should come with her. “Lawyer’s here to see you. Even if it’s past visiting time. That charm must be rubbing off-- the higher-ups decided to make an exception to the rule.”  
  
Exception?  
  
Why the hell would anyone bend the rules for him? Then, it hit like a sack of bricks as Carter snapped the cuffs on his wrist. This visit might be about Brian. What he saw might have only been topical and more damage could have remained under the surface. Holy Shit, what if, he stopped himself. He wouldn’t even go there until he got real answers.  
  
His right knee wobbled just a bit, stuttering his usually fluid steps. He’d had problems with it since the crashing the Charger five years ago. Dom schooled his face, “Lead on, Officer,” he sighed and started walking.  
  
He couldn’t show any panic. Not that there was any reason to panic _yet_ , at least. What should have surprised him more was that Mia had managed to get him another lawyer in less than a week after firing the third one. He knew his sister was persistent and dedicated, but he had to wonder how she managed to pull this off.  
  
Another CO opened the meeting room; Carter walked him through the door and got him settled at the table. The guy in waiting for him wasn’t what Dom had been expecting.  
  
He didn’t look anything like the prick that tried to ride Dom’s case to fame earlier in the week. For one thing, the guy was big, almost as wide as Dom, but taller. The suit he wore was black and conservative, but didn’t scream expensive or designer. It was just a suit. A shield. A disguise. Dom realized as _his lawyer_ eyeballed him like he was the missing link.  
  
The inspection was quite unnerving. “So you’re my lawyer?”  
  
“Yep, I was given the head’s up about you this evening,” the guy smiled too brightly, too strained to be genuine.  
  
Dom figured he might as well feel the guy out as he pinged Dom’s radar as being the squirrely type. “My brother called you?  
  
 _His lawyer_ nodded, “Yeah, said you need a lawyer ASAP. That’s why I’m here now.”  
  
Crossing his arms over his chest Dom gave an impenetrable look. His expression was stone cold solid; he and the Great Sphinx could’ve had a staring contest and the look on Dom’s face said there was no way that he would lose. “Strike One,” he reeled off.  
  
This guy wasn’t an actor. His poker face was for shit and he was a little too confident that Dom would just open up to some dude in a suit claiming to be his lawyer. “Excuse me?” The surprise in voice was too high and stable. Not real at all.  
  
“I don’t have a brother and you ain’t a lawyer either--so strike two. Should I keep going?” Dom stated as the guy began to smirk.  
  
The guy ran a palm over his face. “Can’t blame me for trying?”  
  
Dom shrugged. “That depends on what you’re selling,” he paused, “Frankly, you should stick to your day job, cuz bluffing you ain’t cut out for.”  
  
Another smirk. “I’ll take that advice to heart.” He reached inside his coat and pulled out a badge like Loomis. So not a lawyer, but a Fed.  
  
“My instincts were right. I should listen to them more often.”  
  
“Instincts are nature’s truth, and from what I’ve read about you, you seem like you’ve got more than most.” The badge disappeared inside of the jacket again. “I guess this is the part where I introduce myself and make a long story short.”  
  
He hunched over the table and stared Dom directly in the eye. “My name is Agent Paul Ballard and I believe you’re the man I’ve been waiting for.”  
  
Dom coughed into his fist, covering a small laugh. Because that had to be the worst unintentional pick-up line he’d ever heard. “I’m not sure how I can help you. I answered all of Loomis’ questions. And that, all the stuff I told her, was all that I know,” Dom said, still on edge. “So…”  
  
Ballard pulled out a brown folder with pen scribbles covering every possible outer surface from behind his back. “This investigation is piggybacking off Loomis’ questions. I need you tell me what happened before you were taken into custody in the desert.”  
  
He flipped through the pages noisily. “We talked to Braga, but he doesn’t seem to remember much, and Loomis said…you saw something. I’m here,” he paused, licked his lips and began again, “I need to know what it was.”  
  
“I didn’t see a _something_. What I saw was a black van. It came--” Dom trailed off, reining his words in as the note flashed in his memory.  
  
Ballard wanted to know. “The black van what? You said it came. Penning’s notes said that you said you weren’t alone and that someone else was picked up. Who was it?”  
  
Why didn’t Ballard know if he’d read the file? He’d mentioned Brian several times in the pre-note era. Brian’s involvement should have been well documented. “You know who was there.”  
  
“I need you to say it,” Ballard replied. “I know that there was someone else with you, because the report reads like there was someone else, even if it’s all been redacted. And I bet you’ve been asking questions and no one,” gestured about and lowered his voice, “has bothered to give you any answers.”  
  
Dom’s clenched his jaw. Talk about Deep Throat. Redacted? He’d seen enough spy movies to know exactly what that meant. Someone had chopped his testimony up and glued it back together without the pieces that provided too much information.  
  
“Tell me I’m wrong,” Ballard goaded Dom to say something, but Dom remained fiercely silent.  
  
“You can’t, can you?”He withdrew a photograph from the file. A face on the picture was hidden from him. Just the white backing space stared up at him. At them. Ballard slid it across the table. One finger remained over its center as Ballard said, “That name that you know means more than you could ever know.”  
  
“How?” Dom asked.  
  
A second face down photograph was placed on the tabletop. “Freedom.”  
  
Dom considered the note again, which weighed heavy inside his sock. But it was the chance at actual answers that got him to chomp on the bait. So he cracked like a piggy bank, telling Agent Ballard all he wanted to know.  
  
“You want a name? Here it is: Agent Brian O’Conner, that was who was with me. He was hurt. His car flipped after coming out of the tunnel. I had him propped up because he couldn’t get up, when the black van came.”  
  
The memories rewound like a movie, flickering quickly and muted like a silent film in his head. The butt of the gun smacking him in the temple was a memory not easily forgotten. “A guy in a suit--an older black dude got out and started talking to Brian and some other suits loaded him up and took him. The guy clocked me one,” Dom pointed to his still bruised temple, “And I woke up to the feds swarming me.” Like flies to garbage, they were all over him.  
  
Ballard sank back into his chair, releasing a long slow breath as he went. He flipped over the first picture, revealing the face of a girl, a college student. A pretty girl that looked about Mia’s age. “Her name’s Caroline and she’s been missing for years.”  
  
Jesus, he couldn’t imagine. “Sorry,” Dom said. “Any clues?”  
  
Ballard’s eyes flicked down to Caroline’s picture. His gaze was so soft and attentive, the caress was almost tangible. “Yeah, there are so clues. Not enough though to make heads or tails of where she really is,” he paused before returning a serious stare back to Dom. “All I know is that she doesn’t want to be there. I’m betting I can say the same about him.” His finger tapped the other picture noisily.  
  
Once the picture flipped it revealed a grainy traffic cam photo—of them. Caught by the quick shutter of a traffic camera, so blurred and barely recognizable.  
  
“I think you have more answers for me, but,” he looked to his watch hastily, “I think we need to keep this meeting short.” He lifted the photo and placed it at eye level between them. His thumb was adjacent to what should’ve been Brian’s smile and Dom squashed the urge to growl. Dom’s perspective has been a bit sideways since Brian’s seizure and the mystery van appearing out of the blue.  
  
“All I need you to think about is what O’Conner is to you and what you would do to help him if he was trapped?”  
  
Dom could answer the question in his sleep. Over five years, he and Brian had developed a pattern of sacrificing each other for the other, throwing lives away with little care for the consequences as long as the other was free. And now here they were: Dom locked up and Brian M.I.A, presumed a ghost to anyone who looked for him. In Dom’s world loyalty superseded just about everything else, add love on top of it and Dom was capable of doing the impossible.  
  
“What do you need from me?” He said, crossing the table to invade Ballard’s space. Invasive questions could only be answered with invasive answers. Dom leaned over and repeated Ballard’s question, “What’s she to you?” Dom asked, because the discomfort from personal questions being bandied back and forth shouldn’t be a one-sided thing.  
  
Ballard’s poker face shifted into a pained scowl. He stared back at Dom and remained silent; jaw flaring tight and stiff, and Dom thought he only needed a white hat to be a real high and mighty cowboy.  
  
Ballard reared back slowly, sucking his teeth as he went. “This conversation is far from over, but I need to go. There’s a lead I need to follow up on that may help us get closer to finding O’Conner.”  
  
“Since this conversation isn’t over: when will you be back?”  
  
Ballard opened his jacket and dug inside his inner pocket. “Tomorrow, I hope. If something scratches the surface, give me a call collect and I’ll accept.”  
  
The rush of NOS couldn’t replicate the headrush this conversation created. “Sure.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Three-Thirty. Four. Four-Thirty. Five.  
  
After mulling over the meeting the day before, Dom decided to show Ballard the note. The secret missive he received seemed to fit into the web of covert affairs and red herrings. He’d kept his guard up, eyes ever vigilant, watching his blockmates and the CO’s that watched them.  
  
Whoever sent him that note knew exactly where he was and could get at him if ever the urge or necessity came about. He was like a damn rat in a cage with the wall at his back on one end and fire at the other. He wondered what escape option Ballard offered.  
  
Escape was an idea he fantasized about constantly in between thoughts of O’Conner. Cars, explosives, fire drills—whatever, as long as it could get him out, he’d take it.  
  
Dom was tired. His eyes were tight at the corners and gritty with untouchable particles of sand and sleeplessness, hurt more and more with each passing second. But giving into sleep didn’t offer much rest, not with the many appearance of a mute apparition of Brian O’Conner haunting his dreams, driving away from him in dream car after dream car across an endless desert. Dom never seemed to be able to scream loud enough for Brian to hear him nor did Brian’s voice carry over the sound of the motor.  
  
And this was the same dream, on an infinite loop, night after night.  
  
If Dom didn’t sleep, he might turn towards not caring so much about the deal the DA was working out with his lawyer. Apparently, Halcòn was back in the saddle after Mia put the fear of God into him. Despite the fear, he was still pushing a bullshit deal. A deal that seemed to consistently demand that he return to Lompoc for a fifteen plus stretch.  
  
“I chewed his ass out, D.” Mia had said when he last talked to her. “He’s getting back to the DA as we speak; I’m hoping he won’t act like too much of a prick or you’ll end up more screwed than you already are.”  
  
All true he knew. “Tell me about it,” Dom told her.  
  
“ _Dom_ ,” she’d said. And Mia’s way of saying things automatically kick-started a thousand emotions inside of him, forcing him to do what he did best: prepare for the worst. “Just…Just keep your head up, okay? I’m doing my best to get you--”  
  
“I know you are, Mia.” Dom knew she was no more responsible for him being here now than she was when he first went to Lompoc beating Kenny Linder half to death. He tended to forget the small things with her, and everyone else for that matter, so he said, “Thanks, Mia Bella,” and meant it. He used that old nickname their dad had for her when she was six, obsessed with pink and a firmer believer in being the first ballerina race car driver.  
  
He hated to break her heart, but it was a fact of life when it came to loving Dominic Toretto, heartbreak was to be expected. “Sure thing, Big Bro.”  
  
When they hung up, Dom realized she hadn’t offered anything new on Brian. For the time being, he was grateful. He was up to his neck in his own shit, and considering all that Ballard had said, maybe it was alright if he kept some space between them, even if his gut said otherwise.  
  
The library cart came around after lunch. He managed to snag a few rabbit-eared copies of _Hot Rod_ and _Road and Track_ , which were as good as porn at the moment. He couldn’t shake those nightmares turned daydreams of the Jane Mansfield coup and Brian’s disappearing act before the credits ran. Distracting himself meant pushing aside memories of the rattling slam, so blunt and final, that doors made inside or the cold countdown from zero to fifteen years that loomed over head.  
  
But thinking about tricking out a’74 Cuda back in Panama or a little place not too far from the beach down in Manzanillo, Mexico, where the cerveza was always cold, topped with lime and people tended to mind their business because the weather was too awesome not to. He’d step right over that two million dollar price tag Forbes placed on the only known ’71 Hemi Cudas, add a slick black stack, and scrap that big ass 426 for a new 6.4L Hemi with passive intake camshaft, and 525 hp for the hell of it. Just the thought of true pony red and white on that baby, and…It was enough to give him some extra hope.  
  
A game of dominoes drew in most of the guys on the block. A few others hovered below the tv watching the early afternoon gameshow-talkshow stew. Even fewer still remained isolated, which was a questionable survival tactic when heading into the bar and cement jungle that was a California supermax.  
  
As he folded his arms beneath his head and mapped constellations of cars and streets across the cracked stucco of the ceiling, he thought to himself. His first time, he’d been seventeen, all swollen rage and teenage bluster aggravated by the pain of losing his father. Back then he learned real quick after getting his ass handed to him by five members of  La Eme. After that he hooked up with a couple of cousins of guys he’d known from the speedway and that got him through his first year and a half until he hit his last growth spurt and started pumping iron like he had a fire lit under his ass and Nos in his veins.  
  
But fifteen plus was _different_ than three to five. Even if he was kept in protective custody, accidents tended to happen. He managed to get through once before as a unaffiliated lone wolf, but twice was pushing it. Coming at a big dude to prove themselves was a rite of passage for all the hoppers and junior homies in lockdown, and Dom was definitely a big dude. Then, there was Braga, who admittedly came up from the streets, and those streets ran right through Nuestra Familia, La Eme, MS-13 and Latin King territory. Since they were less than buddy-buddy, the likelihood that Braga was already flapping his gums was higher than a Yugo being a shit car; Dom knew he’d be walking into hostile territory.  
  
Labels were what mattered inside. He had two strikes against him, which Braga would gladly put on blast to any and everybody. Snitch. He better starting loosening up now, because there was a reason they said _snitches get stitches_. Now a snitch turned faggot made the former canker sore on his reputation look like a gangrenous wound.  
  
Between his no-deal on the table and Brian’s disappearing act, Dom was a quarter mile from being well and truly fucked.  
  
A baton tapped his cell door. “Toretto,” CO Carter dropped her baton and opened the slot to secure his cuffs. “Got a visitor."  
  
“My lawyer?” He doubted his luck would change this fast, but he could hope.  
  
“Yep, looks like the feds want you again. You’re getting real popular round here, Toretto. Feels like I should ask for an autograph or somethin’. ” she said, as she snapped the cuffs over his wrists.  
  
A small grin quirked his lips. “Just call me Mr. Personality.”  
  
CO Carter escorted him down the block, past his somewhat curious compatriots, and out through the metal doors leading to the interview and visitation rooms. He didn’t get shuffled inside interview room B since Ballard happened to be standing in the middle of the hall with a couple of COs; laughing and talking, just shooting the shit, like it was any other day of the week, and not an hour or so before chow.  
  
Ballard sobered for a microsecond, barely long enough for Dom to register it. Then, he was back to being just another of the guys, who happened to keep the bad guys in check.  
  
“Sorry, guys, for the short notice. We gotta bring him into the office. The order just came down to me about twenty minutes ago, of course, right? Was on my way out and everything.” Ballard said to sale his arrival extra hard.  
  
The CO at the processing desk looked like he’d worked one too many back to back shifts. Purple bags clouded the skin below his eyes, giving him the look of a man that was too tired to care. His lazy nod in Ballard’s direction confirmed as much. “Yeah, we know how it is. It’s just a matter of arranging formal transport with the proper authorization.”  
  
“Well, the orders are all there. This is coming directly for the Director, so unless you want to call him, you’ll have to take my word and the authorization on these papers.” He handed over the stack of papers and waited patiently for the COs to review the request.  
  
Dom watched all this fairly carefully, mostly curious about where Ballard was taking him.  
  
When the review was finished, the CO pushed a clipboard across the processing gate to Ballard. “Sign these and we’ll ready Toretto for your custody.”  
  
This time Dom clearly saw Ballard’s look of relief. As Carter prepped him with ankle chains, he finally spoke to the FBI agent. “Sup, Ballard. Got more questions?”  
  
Ballard remained firmly attentive to the papers before him and barely lifted his head to respond, “A few,” he said, “Really pressing stuff.”  
  
They finished up at the same time. As he was handed over to Ballard, Dom wondered what Ballard had up his sleeve. “I guess I’m up for another round of twenty questions. Why not?”  
  
“That’s what they think,” Ballard muttered as he handed back clipboard with his scribbled signature. He hooked his hand around Dom’s bicep and turned them about so they could exit.  
  
A series of buzzers sounded after they passed through checkpoint doors. When the last steel door labeled ‘Exit’ loomed in front of them, Dom had never been happier to see the flicker of the plastic red and white sign. Then the door opened, giving Dom his first real taste of hazy California afternoon sunlight.  
  
At the end of the exit ramp was a late model black sedan. Just about what he expected of any fed, save for Brian. “Watch your head.” Ballard opened the passenger side backdoor for Dom and waited for him settle in the backseat before rounding the car.  
  
Immediately, Dom noticed the black duffle draped across the front seat. It looked like they were in for something other than simple questions. Ballard drove out of the lot, merging into traffic seamlessly. Again, Dom was struck by just how normal all this seemed; almost forgetting the basis for his previous chitchat with Ballard.  
  
Ballard drove in silence for five or six blocks, until the Twin Towers were just another concrete outline dotting an already saturated skyline. They passed through the Vignes Tunnel and continued west until they hit Alpine and eventually turned on Alameda. Every so often, Ballard’s eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror to watch Dom, who stared right back with unwavering eyes.  
  
Behind Ballard, Dom said, “So, no small talk?”  
  
“Cool it, Toretto.”  
  
Closing in on downtown, Ballard eased into San Pedro and turned into a small alleyway between a closed drycleaners and a deserted import/export storefront. Ballard eased off the gas, finally coming to a stop at the center of the alley.  
  
Ballard killed the ignition and remained facing forward, contemplating his next move while the engine cooled, ticking away like an out of sync clock as cheap coolant swirled into puddles of old rain water. As nice as the change of scenery was, Dom wished Ballard had done his deep thinking prior to this little car ride.  
  
Dom had just opened his mouth when Ballard spoke, “All right, here’s the deal: I’m going to take a chance on you, Toretto, because you seem to be the only other person that knows what’s going on and hasn’t managed to vanish into thin air after talking about it.”  
  
Turning in his seat, he faced Dom and looked at him with hard determined eyes. An expression that Dom was well acquainted with, especially when presented with the surprise of sharp curves on a nasty stretch of road at the end of the race. It was the sort of expression that soured the knowledge that the win was once in the bag and had just slipped through his fingers.  
  
“You’re the definition of flight risk, so this is a big damn gamble I’m taking.” Dom heard the jingle of keys as Ballard reached into his pocket. He removed a small silver set; the keys to Dom’s freedom from the wrist, waist and ankle chains.  
  
“And this little field trip?” Dom asked.  
  
Ballard palmed the keys and exhaled a slow tense breath. “This is what I call independent investigation. The paper work was solid, not that my superiors actually signed off on it and the intake sergeant won’t think to follow-up until after final count. So we’re clear.”  
  
Dom was impressed. “You’ve got it all figured out. Since we’re on a hunt, I guess you’ve got all the _whos, whats, wheres, whys_ at this point.” Ballard seemed to be the type that was on top of his game, but their last conversation left Dom thinking that Ballard knew almost as much as he did about the situation, which was next to squat.  
  
Refusing to be provoked, Ballard pulled a folder from the central console. A thick generic yellow folder that showed up on tv cop procedurals everywhere. He thumbed through the folder, removing several sheets of paper before casting it aside. “You aren’t the only one getting notes. Had a dead guy show up in my apartment not too long ago and have had more than my fair share of close calls. I know I’m headed in the right direction because I’m getting a lot of resistance, and someone knows that I’m getting closer to finding Caroline and trying to stop me.”  
  
A yellow post-it note laid across the top sheet with an address scribbled across its face. “But someone else gave up the address.” And Ballard smiled to himself, feeling accomplished and nary satisfied. “This thing is deep, bigger than you or I can guess, and I know now’s the time to make a move.”  
  
If he hadn’t seen the black vans for himself, Dom would swear the Ballard was talking about some X-Files type conspiracy shit. “How do I fit into all of this? I’m a con that you’ve _borrowed_ from County; how am I supposed to help you investigate?”  
  
This time Ballard pulled out a thinner folder and tossed it into the backseat with Dom. “Very few cons would care about friends turned narc; even fewer would give two shits about a narc turned fed, you win the special prize. I get the feeling that the bond between you guys runs deep--” he held his arms up in surrender after being put on the wrong side of Dom’s scowl, “whatever the case may be, you and I remain the only two people in L.A., who will admit that they know Brian O’Conner.”  
  
He pointed at the folder. “That was the only thing I could find and it was buried so deep, it might as well have been in China.”  
  
Dom spread the file open across his lap and explored the sparse pages in the personnel file. It was nothing more than a bare bones resume, transfer order and details about performance at the Academy.  
  
“I’ve looked everywhere for Agent O’Conner, and I mean, everywhere for an Officer Brian O’Conner and I couldn’t find a damn thing until I dug through the archives myself. Not within any of the FBI, LAPD, State Police, CIA, NSA databases. Nothing.” Ballard pulled a photograph from the stack of papers in hand, this one was printed on a sheet of paper. Dom immediately recognized himself, the Suzuki and Brian. “I found this and that was more than enough.”  
  
“For what?” Dom’s eyes flicked from the picture to Ballard.  
  
“To tell you that Brian O’Conner doesn’t exist.”  
  
Dom leaned forward, anger pitching his voice just above a growl, “You pulling my leg or what?” What the hell did Ballard mean Brian O’Conner didn’t exist? “I _know_ him. How the hell can he not exist? Tell me, because I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”  
  
Ballard flipped over the last picture. “Definitely not.” Brian’s sunny smile stared up at Dom, younger, blonder, happier. The person in the photo looked like the man Dom knew but the eyes said this person was different, far more innocent and trusting, less cool and cautious. Not like the Brian he’d met five years or a few weeks ago.  
  
Dom started laughing, loud uncontrollable barks of gut-shaking laughter. Ballard watched him, entirely unamused until Dom could pull himself together. “I think it’s funny. You tell me Brian doesn’t exist, but you have pictures of him and then someone slips me this,” he pulled the note from his sock and spread it wide, “and tells me to forget him. So, what is it? Forget or remember him, cuz I can’t do both.”  
  
Ballard examined the note and started to smile again. “This time, it’s imperative that you remember.”  
  
Not Brian O’Conner. Not Brian Spilner. “So who is he?” Dom asked, still staring at the picture.  
  
Ballard flipped the picture back towards him. “His name is Lewis Thomas. And like Caroline, he’s been missing for years, longer than she has actually. It’s important that I find them. You’re a guy that can handle himself and this is going to be an in and out thing, though I’m not too sure what we’ll find on the inside.”  
  
“The inside of what?”  
  
“I have reason and evidence to believe that Caroline and Brian are being held against their will in a facility called the Dollhouse.”  
  
A part of Dom returned to that place from five years ago. The same one that got his rage going like the blue base of butane flame—blinding, hot and blistering, that wanted to tell Ballard he was a fucking liar. That same dark voice wanted to find Brian Spilner, O’Conner, Lewis, whoever, and punch him in his stupid fucking pretty face. Goddamn, Brian got inside his life and under his skin like mysterious grains of sand, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t shake Brian and frankly, didn’t want to.  
  
The folder was pushed aside. His eyes drifted to the picture of Caroline, all sunny and college girl perky, next to Lewis aka not-Brian. He sighed with mounting exasperation and leaned against the seat; his eyes rested on the boring beige upholstery of the roof and remained there, needing a respite so that he could think.  
  
Ballard, thankfully, did not say a word.  
  
Dom dropped his head into his bound hands, closed his eyes and said a quick prayer as the time for making decisions had come to a close. _Hail Mary, full of grace_ … Dom wasn’t the type to show nervousness, but after the last five years, Letty and Brian not being _Brian_ , he felt deserving of taking a long moment for consideration. Finally, he cleared his throat, “I doubt I’ll be too helpful wearing bright orange. Unless, we’re going to a colorblind town, then it really won’t matter.” He said bluntly.  
  
The duffle from the passenger seat dropped onto Dom’s lap. Again, he gave Ballard a _look_ —one of the boots inside barely missed his nuts by an inch. “I think all of that should fit.” Inside the bad were a pair of dark jeans, a black t-shirt, a jacket a little too beat up for Dom’s taste, and a pair of right sized Doc Martins.  
  
“Are you in or out, Toretto?”  
  
Dom didn’t see himself having much of a choice. He missed _Brian_. He worried about _Brian_. He still owed him for L.A., even if Brian wasn’t who he thought he was.  
  
“So we sneak in, grab Caroline and Bri—Lewis and get out? Sounds doable.”  
  
Ballard took Dom’s question as acquiescence. “Good, because as of now, you’re an unreported fugitive and you’ll stay that way as long we’re on the same page.”  
  
They certainly hadn’t clarified terms of this partnership. Obviously, Dom realized finding Caroline and Lewis were the most important things. The same remained true for him as well. All things considered, if everything happened as planned, then maybe he’d roll out of L.A. with Brian in tow before anyone was any wiser.  
  
He would honor the deal.  
  
Dom held up his hands, a silent gesture to remove the restraints and replied, “We’re on the same page.”  
  
Ballard looked relieved, though still cocky as hell. Between unlocking the handcuffs and moving on to the waist chain, Ballard paused and gave Dom another calculating stare. “By the way, if you screw me over, I swear I’ll make sure you never see the light of day again.”  
  
“Fair enough, man.”  
  
Once he was finally free, Dom made quick work of dressing in the tight confines of the backseat. He rubbed his faintly pink skin on his wrist. Despite short term wear, metal cuffs always had a way of irritating him in more ways than one. “Where to next?”  
  
Ballard started the car. “We’re going to see an engineer.”


	4. Four

In the few minutes that Dom had been sitting shotgun to Ballard, he found the guy to be overflowing in moral righteousness. Dom figured being a Fed was the only real option Ballard had for an occupation; he seemed the type to bleed blue rather than red. Add all of this into his White Knight Complex and Ballard was like a man possessed, cutting through vine and thorns of bullshit to get at the truth that seemed to be wrapped tighter than a rubber knot.  
  
But Dom saw a lot of himself in Paul Ballard. Sure, there were the obvious physical things like the fact that neither of them seemed to have met a set of weights they didn’t like; the stubborn set of their mouths that when lost in the grasp of deep thoughts had a tendency to clutch tight with icy dead fingers; a bullish look that said _I’m the unstoppable force, fuck off_ _immoveable object_ ; and lastly, the straightedge contours of their chiseled jaw lines that reinforced a natural gravity that accompanied movie star good lucks. Not that Dom was bragging or anything.  
  
Dom looked at Ballard, mapped his profile and catalogued all his subtle tells. Ballard’s jaw ticked and released like a gasket, when he glanced peevishly at Dom, “What?”  
  
“Just thinking,” Dom said, looking way from Ballard and back to the street, the lights and the lives of people not being turned upside down by disappearing people and hidden facts.  
  
Ballard shrugged; the tension in his shoulders eased away and relaxed slightly, just enough to be considered a huge release by tightass standards. “About?”  
  
The thick brown folder peppered with scribbles tiny and messy in whirling patches of non-patterns was in the console between them. The evidence of this entire hunt was just taking up space like a pack of tissues in the center console. That didn’t sit right with Dom.  
  
But the pictures…  
  
Caroline, _Brian_ and Mellie, whose name Paul said like it pained him to think about, sat like ducks in a row. Three pretty people were smiling about happy things, moments in their lives when all was right and no one had cause to worry.  
  
“Caroline and--” Dom pointed to the last picture, “Mellie, they mean something to you.” Dom had figured several things out before sharing his observation. Both of the girls were important to him, but _Caroline_ was the one he was really climbing the mountain to reach. Something about Caroline called to him, made his instincts roar and logic lag with Prince Valiant’s ego taking the driver’s seat.  
  
Dom thought about Letty. How he’d crossed continents for her and scorched the earth in her name. Ballard would and was doing the same thing for Caroline.  
  
Mellie was the one who broke his heart and he wasn’t sure how. And Dom realized then, that Brian had been the same. Brian was all adrenaline, anger and passion wrapped up in a charged magnetism that kept pulling them together, leaving a trail of broken hearts wherever he went.  
  
Ballard pushed his chin to his chest and made an inaudible sound of someone on the precipice of lying. “Of course, they do.” He said bluntly. “I want to find them and make the people that used them pay.”  
  
Sure, if he said so. Though Dom knew it was more personal than that. If someone had been willing to screw him over a few times, insert someone who apparently didn’t exist into his life, only for them to help him tear his life all down and go from being friends to allies to _lovers_ and had him risk everything to find Brian on the word of a lone wolf FBI agent. Then yeah, he was pretty sure they—whoever they were, would dick with Ballard pretty good.  
  
“Just like you and Lewis.”Ballard’s grip loosened on the wheel, his knuckles going from white to red with excited blood, and he appeared to relax. “So what’s the story there? I’ve seen your depositions, but I can tell that it’s a little light in sections, despite your honesty. So, I gotta ask: what’re you leaving out?” His mouth twisted into a sideways grin. “I knew it was big the moment we first met.”  
  
The city lights had flickered on during the drive. Now the orange corona bent to peach under the oppression of the atmospheric smog and the haze of progress that hung lower and lower on L.A. these days. So Dom continued to stare out the window, his eyes catching on his own reflection in the side mirror, and he deduced that he really needed a shave.  
  
“First off, I don’t know anybody named ‘Lewis’.” He wanted to make that clear. Despite how corkscrewed this entire affair was, he had to hold on to the tiny bits of fact that were his and his alone. “I _know_ Brian O’Conner. And what you need to know is that he saved my life more times than he’s messed it up. That a fair and balanced equation for you?”  
  
They passed through another intersection, crossing over from the hub of business to fashion and design. “That all?” Ballard asked with a small smirk. “I gotta say you don’t look the type to have deep meaningful friendships, but he…” he trailed off, “looks like a real friendly guy--”  
  
Dom cut him off with a small chuckle. “What do you want me to say? That we passed notes to each other: check once for _yes_ and twice for _no_? Before all of this,” Dom waved his hand in a lazy circle through the air, meaning all that Paul Ballard had unloaded on him and before he was pistol-whipped and Brian kidnapped.  
  
“We were two dudes that liked to race and had a deep connection, ya know? Now when you try to put labels on it—it’s like putting on a decals before the paint’s dry; everything turns out messy and sticky. With the rest of the stuff you’ve told me, it makes narrowing the world down to cop and ex-con really messy. So I figure,” Dom said, turning back to face Ballard, “why even try.”  
  
To this Ballard said nothing, leaving the two to lapse into silence. Traffic flowed in a steady stream, a good day by L.A. standards, and Dom was content to watch it pass like a primetime television show, making it easier to slip deeper inside his mind. Ballard was likely in a similar place.  
  
For Dom, he took a mental trek into the spaces that had been carved out for him and Brian. A small corner of his mind, loaded to capacity with every word down to the last second and each touch in a concrete catalogue. Each memory inspected, buffed and set upon a shelf to wait for his perusal. Like now, he thought back to that morning before they drove to Mexico. They acted like kids, teenagers all hopped up on hormones, lust and lingering tastes of alcohol.  
  
Brian’s shower had been just big enough. The two of them stood in an assortment of lazy configurations: shoulder to shoulder, front to back, chest to chest under the blast of hot water. His hands trailing over Brian’s skin, all healthy flushed pink with undertones of sun-ripened gold, over his shoulders and the span of his back down to his leans hips that just begged to have Dom’s hands fit there, fit right over the bruises from the night before. He curled his fingers over that cryptic little tattoo and Brian pulled his fingers away, slid them up his hip to small of his back.  
  
They didn’t waste time talking. Their normal reticence was translated into each blunt and lingering touch. Brian’s hands and arms wound around Dom’s shoulders, resting there as their feet slotted together like a joint and their hips pressed flush together. When wet, Brian’s hair was longer, a deeper shade of unnatural dark, his eyes bluer in the haze of the steam, and Dom held him closer—tighter, grabbing hold of every bit of Brian that he could.  
  
The water remained just below scalding, a comfortable level of hot that eased soreness from the night before out and opened them up to every sensation in the moment. The minor height difference was a blessed thing for their cocks, which rubbed together with each shift of bodies. Dom cocked his hip and stuck his thigh out and pulled Brian’s ass down hard to ride it. And if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever--Brian riding his thigh like a fresh pony.  
  
He had no serious thoughts at the moment. Just surface ruminations that fit into neat categories like _hot, good, want, fuck, and more_ ; all driving him onward as heat pooled low in his belly, making his dick feel impossibly heavy and each kiss more desperate. Brian’s long fingers skittered over his nipples and down his belly button like reedy blades of sea grass, leaving a trail of tingling behind. He worked Brian by thrusting his thigh up, stroking him until Brian was flushed from face to chest. His hands gripped Brian’s ass tight, holding the two solid cheeks in his hands, which were more than a generous handful, pulling him closer to bring Brian to the edge.  
  
And it went on until Brian shot his load over his stomach. He wrapped his hand around Dom and brought him off with sure, deliberate strokes. The water ran cold while they kissed in the dredges of early morning darkness.  
  
In this series of too brief moments, Dom swore he’d come to know Brian better than he ever had. Sighs and groans were earnest displays that failed to hide the bits of frost in Brian’s personality or the lack of impulse control in Dom’s. Flashes of white teeth and desert blue scorch the surface of his brain, imprinting him for life.  
  
In the quiet of the morning, five years and countless collisions later, Dom thought to himself about all the starts and stops. How ends made left turns becoming new beginnings and if given enough time, Brian O’Conner could become a permanent part of his life instead of a series of hit and runs. With enough time, these sparks, hotter than lightning in a bottle, could become love.  
  
Brian’s words as the shower rained down icy hard water stuck to Dom’s brain like old motor oil. “Better than a quarter mile, right?”  
  
And Dom replied, “Definitely,” and kissed Brian until breathless. Brian smiled against his cheek, dropping small pecks and nips along his neck, and placed a smiling kissing on Dom’s pulse.  
  
One last kiss to the collarbone and Dom felt recharged, ready for the day. “I guess it’s time to wake up then.”  
  
“Like Folgers’s but better.” He held Brian’s gaze, found him returning the smile that lit Brian’s eyes. “Brian, I--” _Want this to last. Don’t know what I’m doing. Need you to stick around._  
  
Brian half-heartedly punched Dom in the shoulder. “Save it for later, we got a job to do.” He smirked, wanly.  
  
But later never came, because they were interrupted by black van, guys in spy games suits, and Dom’s ass being thrown in jail. Dom still hadn’t said what he wanted to. Now all those thoughts were awake, leaving Dom adrift with memories of his missed opportunities.  
  
He’d finally have a chance to say all those unsaid things. “Do they know you’re coming for them?”  
  
“I don’t know Caroline like I know or _thought_ I knew Millie, but I do know for a fact that what the Dollhouse is doing is unconscionable. They can’t get away with holding people against their will, and I know that Caroline wants me to find her.”  
  
“So that means there’s no way that you can be wrong then, can it? We’re doing the right thing, so not arguing.”  
  
“Nope, not all.”  
  
Ballard pointed out that they were three blocks shy of the engineer’s apartment. He turned on Wilshire, directing them towards the heart of Koreatown. They slowed as the light turned red, and Dom took the opportunity to look around. Not that he’d never been Koreatown. He’d been there plenty, but five years was a long time to be gone and in a city like L.A., five years might as well been twenty with the way things constantly changed.  
  
A swell of early evening commuters rose on the stairs from the Purple Line, a smart choice for the easily car sick and broke in need of transportation. The human tide gathered and crashed together on the sidewalk seemingly with no rhyme or reason, just a chaotic mass of moving people. The crowd finally began to clear; a small billboard below the transit station sign caught his eye. It was a Crime Stoppers poster, black and white with the picture of the person in question, who looked like he could really give two shits about it and Dom blew out a low breath, armed robbery and sexual assault. Dude was going down hard, deservedly so. All the pertinent information was there including description, crime and what Dom figured got the attention of most people, the money. A hundred thousand should get more tongues wagging.  
  
But that shouldn’t have been the case; not for something like this. There were always witnesses, even if they were reluctant; there was always someone who saw something. Dom followed this train of thought all the way to Mexico. If Braga saw something, then he wasn’t talking to Dom’s knowledge.  
  
Speaking of witnesses, considering Dom had just thought of two, possibly three people with some knowledge of the Dollhouse, he had to wonder if there were others out there at had been swept up in the net of the Dollhouse.  
  
Shouldn’t there be someone else on the trail of the Dollhouse beside Ballard and him.  
  
The light turned green and they crossed Normandie. Passing the family-owned storefronts, restaurants from every corner of the globe, there was a surprising new crop of franchises dotting the rows of homespun enterprises. College kids were out in mass, hanging out with cups of overpriced coffee, talking about things from their college classes that would probably sail right over Dom’s head. He could easily envision Mia at home in this scene.  
  
Ballard muttered a hissed curse and turned the car sharply, earning them a loud honk from the car behind them and a bird if they were lucky. “You alright there, Agent Ballard?”  
  
Paul decreased his speed to a certified crawl, even for a residential street. “Perfect actually.” A crawl like this wasn’t appreciated in the more _urban_ parts of the city. A slow creep, a deliberate crawl were all the warning winds of a drive-by and the last thing Dom figured Ballard wanted was to inadvertently cause a drive-by when looking for a suspect’s crib.  
  
“Car’s just a little rusty,” he lied. More like his nerves were getting to him. The car they were cruising in lacked all the wear and tear of a personal vehicle, and by the lingering scent of fresh leather and deodorizer, it was obvious that it wasn’t used much, which was another clue that this was an off the grid, off the clock mission.  
  
A sharp wheel turn brought them into a classy piece of South Kingsley Drive. The block was littered with pre-WWII singles, duplexes and apartments buildings that had probably seen more than their fair share of budding stars and starlets from the pre-Technicolor days. Lots of land, good space in doors and Dom could see the appeal for up in-comers. As pretty as it was, it lacked soul, that much obvious in this short driving tour.  
  
The sedan slipped into the parking lane at the top of the next corner. The building set about thirty feet from the sidewalk was a classy walk-up, about six stories with that pre-art deco sculpting that tended to make most old buildings in L.A. look eternally classy rather than tacky.  
  
Tapping the window with his knuckle, he said, “Nice digs.”  
  
“Yeah, even shut-in engineers make good money, I suppose,” Paul replied, as he looked over the structure. “We’re hitting 421 and that’s it.”  
  
“How do you want to play this?” Dom asked because good cop/bad cop was the last thing he expected himself to be playing on such short notice, though asking questions was something he could quite well, even with his temper.  
  
“Rules,” Ballard said, as he cut the engine, “I do the talking, you hang in the background. If he runs, catch him. Otherwise, make yourself a part of the scenery.”  
  
Yeah, Dom hadn’t expected them to be partners. Considering that Paul Ballard was just as about as far away from Brian as one could get, Dom hadn’t expected much. The attitude, though, determined to find the Dollhouse, Caroline, Brian, and xyz aside, Dom would only give Ballard so much leeway before he bit back.  
  
“Got it.”  
  
“Good, let’s go.”  
  
This was it. That right path. The trail they needed to get some concrete answers. Possible answers to things that seemed so impossible that it was hard to believe they were real. The time for reservations had ended with the car pulling up to the curve. That didn’t stop Dom from feeling that sharp kick in the gut that came with having last minute hang-ups. “Wait,” Dom tugged Paul back into his seat. “Before we go in there, I gotta know: how is this all possible? I mean, shouldn’t someone know about the Dollhouse?”  
  
Ballard frowned slightly, giving Dom the impression that he’d hit a nerve. “I’m sure there are enough people who know about the Dollhouse. None of them are prepared or willing to do anything about it. Unlike us, they could give two shits.”  
  
Ballard ripped the pictures from the dash and shoved them inside the inner pocket of his jacket. “As for how all of this is happening, I really don’t know. I’m thinking brainwashing, but my gut tells me it’s far worse.”  
  
Worse? That seemed to stretch further than Dom could possibly imagine. “What could be worse than fake lives and fake personalities?” He asked.  
  
Ballard shook his head slowly. “Slavery.”  
  
It hit him then. Slavery. People with no control over their lives being controlled by others. What kind of life was that? That wasn’t a life at all. And the people who used these people, the ones that had no choice, were parasites. That feeling of ice cold shock settled over him; no less startling than ice entering his veins.  
  
Was he a parasite?  
  
Was he a rapi—  
  
He couldn’t finish thinking that word. All he wanted to do now was get out of the car. A hard roll of his gut sang that he _really_ needed to get out of the car. “I gotta get out.”  
  
Ballard made a grab for his shoulder and Dom shook him off hard. “What? Why?”  
  
Dom choked back the bile rising in his throat. “I’m gonna be sick,” he said and scrambled for the door handle.  
  
He’d never been carsick in his life. But the idea that somehow he had been reduced to the lowest form of human garage ate away at him like acid on flesh.  
  
Ballard debated jerking Dom back inside the car, but Dom’s sudden violent heave, however, changed his mind. As soon as the door opened, revealing the gap between the sidewalk and the parking lane, Dom released the semi-digested remains of the Department of Corrections’ lunchtime special.  
  
His forehead felt sweaty and his insides twisted up, causing intangible pain. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, spitting until his mouth was dry and cracking.  
  
He had to believe that Brian was okay. But then again, Lewis was not Brian. His thoughts flew in a circle.  
  
Ballard’s concern was trumped by annoyance and suspicion that Dom was pulling his leg in an effort to escape. “You alright there, Toretto? I wouldn’t have pegged you for the carsick type.” Just for that Dom heaved again, the contents of his stomach making a series of wet _splats_ as it hit the ground below.  
  
He spat on the concrete much to the disgust of a couple walking by. “Just some bad tuna.” It wasn’t just love or obsession driving Ballard; it was knowing that _that_ was happening to these people. Christ , he would save Brian from that. From them. From him too, if need be.  
  
He carried the taste of bitter bile in his mouth; hot, sour, and acidic; he longed for a mint, a stick of gum, anything to get rid of the taste. Paul had barely been accommodating about him vomiting, and looked possibly bored as he waited a few extra seconds for Dom to find his equilibrium.  
  
Dom stepped out of the car, pushed the door with a less passive and more aggressive shove, before spitting one last time on the sidewalk.  
  
Paul waited for him at the edge of the primary walkway. “Ready? I’d like to get this show on the road eventually.”  
  
Dom suppressed giving Paul a well-deserved eye-roll. “Just waiting on you,” Dom replied, stepping forward on feet that were more settled than his stomach.  
  
The long brick laden path to the door was surrounded by lush green grass and diminutive palms. The kind that made visitors feel warm just by looking at them for a few seconds. As they neared the glass doors inlaid with iron bars, a couple emerged through the doors--an unknown solution to the now visible problem of the door buzzer. A pair of college trendy hippie types; one with dreads in blazing Christmas green and the girlfriend with short strawberry red spikes all over her head. They looked like nice kids, though a bit scruffy in Dom’s eyes.  
  
They entered the lobby, all wide space, tile scuffed and worn with age, and Dom pointed to the elevator in the corner rather than the sweeping staircase that ran up the center of a room like a majestic Banyan tree.  
  
The lobby was quiet, save for the small squeaks of their soles as they walked to the elevator, which further disturbed the silence with a small ping announcing its arrival.  
  
Dom eyed the interior warily. Weeks in confinement had set him on edge about being in any windowless space for too long. Ballard jabbed the button for four. Standing shoulder to shoulder, they did look somewhat conspicuous, mostly due to the imposing figures the two of them cut. Dom backed off a little and settled on one lazy shoulder against the wall.  
  
Without looking at Ballard, he stated, “So, let me get this right. We, and I mean you, are going to talk to the engineer while I stand around like an overstuffed piece of furniture.”  
  
Without blinking, Ballard replied, coolly, “Yep, that’s about it. Though I’m not sure about the overstuffed part,” Ballard smirked as his gaze tracked the rising floors. His non-glance at Dom was all deliberate and Dom decided to needle him just a bit.  
  
“Question, Chief, look if the Dollhouse is as powerful as you and me think they are, then what would possess this guy to talk? Seems a bit… _counterintuitive_ to me.” He asked as the elevator jerked to a lurching stop on the fourth floor.  
  
Now Ballard looked at Dom, looked at him as though he was trying to see under his hood, so far beneath the surface that he’d see the gears turning in Dom’s head, and came to a decision. Ballard hadn’t expected him to actually contribute as he’d proposed. Dom wasn’t going into this dragging his feet and these were the questions that Ballard should’ve asked himself if he’d been able to think about something other than Caroline.  
  
Ballard stepped into the empty hall. A quick scan of the numbering pointed them in the direction of the right corner. “Well, that’s easy. We con ‘em.”He looked over his shoulder at Dom with an expectant expression and inclined his head to the next corner. Dom watched him as he stalked off for a second before following in his footsteps.  
  
Four twenty-one was the first door along the corridor. A couple of bicycles lined the wall across from it, but it didn’t look different than what Dom already expected.  
  
Ballard knocked on the door with his head bowed and his eyes diverted. Dom watched the corridor, as a series of locks were released, he counted six, and Kepler opened the door.  
  
The moment Kepler stuck his head through the small space in the door, Dom was immediately reminded of Jesse. True Jess wasn’t a mixed up strawberry blond-redhead like Kepler, but they both possessed the same wired aura. Like one touch would give off sparks and shoot him so high, he’d never come back. There was also the fact that Kepler looked scared shitless when Ballard began his battery of questions. When he caught Dom standing beside the door, he just looked concerned.  
  
He was cagier than an alley cat stuck in a trashcan. First, he bungled his own name. He stepped over the threshold, making sure to close the door behind him; Dom scanned him from head to toe and got a clear reading of stoner off of him. Sweats and pajamas, even this early, along with his shifty-eyed routine, had Dom cracking a smile and feeling bad all at once for the guy. _Just not your day, dude._  
  
When Paul flashed his badge, Stephen J. Kepler’s face turned an alarming shade of red and he clutched his chest without the comical timing of Red Foxx in his pantomiming of a heart attack.  
  
“You’re not from the thai place.” Kepler was plastered on the door, as if willing himself to melt through it. “Yeah, I wanted tofu satay,” he said a little breathlessly.  
  
Ballard’s response, “Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble. But you are an expert in a field that I’m interested in,” was calm, almost soothing, but Kepler’s not buying it.  
  
He followed up his gentle introduction with, “Can we come in?”  
  
After the request, Kepler looked from Ballard to Dom with a growing mask of dread on his face. He was nervous, too nervous, and from the looks of things paranoid. Dom wondered how far his paranoia extended, if the Dollhouse’s reach had put this guy on edge before they arrived.  
  
The small grin Dom wore receded into a concerned frown as Kepler spread his arms across the door, doing the best to keep two guys out of his apartment that could literally go through him without much effort.  
  
“No, let’s stay out here,” Kepler said between gasping breaths. “It’s so nice and the air…the air—Oh, God, I can’t breathe.” He turned around and stuck his head inside the door, inhaling big gulps from within.  
  
Paul and Dom shared a look. This guy might have been an expert in engineering, but he was straight up loco from where Dom was standing. He knew what was wrong with the guy. Agoraphobia. He knew of an old lady a few blocks over with it. Mrs. Morales didn’t leave her house until the day she died and that was what everyone said killed her.  
  
Having had enough, Ballard bulldozed Kepler inside and Dom followed after another sweep of the hall. What Kepler was hiding was not what Dom had been expecting. Dom’s seen his fair share of marijuana stashes, but the weight Kepler was cultivating would have put some of his old homies from around the way to shame.  
  
Tall, thick and pungent--no wonder Kepler had been paranoid and scared shitless. He had some serious weight in plain sight in his apartment. Kepler would be looking at some serious time, if Paul had been working a legit case. Dom would never forget his shouted explanation of “Medicinal carrots!” when Ballard and Dom could see the sheer bounty of his crop.  
  
 _Today’s your luckiest unlucky day_ , Dom thought, because it was true.  
  
Stephen J. Kepler was about to be pulled out of the fryer and into a twelve-alarm scorcher, because of the leverage Ballard had on him. Dom almost felt bad for the guy. That was until he considered the information this guy could have, which would lead them right where they wanted to be. Sure, cooperating would suck because Ballard was a dick, who didn’t make anything easy, but the other option was leaving the close confines of his little weed nest and trading those in for a nasty ass cell with no recycled air and cellmates that didn’t adhere to the idea of personal space.  
  
Ballard shores up his face into a blank slate before asking, “You design environmental systems. That’s all I wanna know about.”  
  
That’s enough for Kepler, who was off like shot rambling about carbon footprints, Earth Day, and ungrateful humans. He bounced all over the apartment, spewing his spiel about environmentalism and seemingly becoming relaxed. A mug was picked up sipped, the contents spat back into the mug and Dom scowled harder, because with his newly recharged contact high aside, Kepler wasn’t so spazzy but he was still gross. The contents of that mug—recycled piss. Earth friendly or not, Dom couldn’t wrap his mind around that one.  
  
Ballard looked at Dom as if he was ready for him to step in, Dom remained where he was and shrugged. Ballard made it so clear that it was crystal that this show was his; Dom was simply along for the ride and carried the hope of finding Brian. End of story.  
  
So Paul edged in closer to Kepler, trying to subtly reel in the crazy. He made a couple of suppositions about him having a ton of money and what he could accomplish with that money when looking for a closed system environment.  
  
“Uh huh, air, water, heat. You wouldn’t have to use the grid, maybe a little…Depending on how big it is.” Kepler pondered the idea while carrying a cordless phone that had been hiding in his freezer. Stranger and stranger this dude.  
  
Suddenly, Ballard’s face was alight in contained excitement. Dom could see where the next question was going and waited for Ballard to pick it up and ask Kepler. “So, you _could_ make a building disappear?”  
  
Kepler rattled off some geeky stoner joke about paint and illusions and Dom noticed Ballard’s good humor had begun to wane.  
  
Dom spoke up for the first time, “What if you bury it underground?”  
  
Kepler wore the deer in the headlights look naturally well. He looked surprised on several counts, probably the fact that Dom spoke and secondly, that Dom asked an intelligent question. Dom got that a lot, but learned to let people’s stereotypes and assumptions bite them in the ass. It was more fun for him that way.  
  
Kepler snapped his fingers-- _Bingo_. “Underground is best, “he said as he sank down onto his couch in a lazy sprawl. “Structural integrity, ventilation--”he rattled off and sobered up as the words began to form a cohesive mental picture. He looked from Paul to Dom and back again, that caginess slotted into place once again and he swallowed hard as he began to come to some bitter conclusions. “But you don’t have a lot of money, do you?” he supposed offhandedly.  
  
Simply standing his ground, Ballard stared back, waiting for Kepler to make those final leaps of logic and catch up without being explicitly told what it was. “I’m looking for something and you know where it is.”  
  
Shaking his head, Kepler contorted his body in several configurations, trying to find some level of comfort, but grew more fidgety instead. “No, no, no, no!” He muttered to himself. When realization sank in, Kepler straight out panicked, not in the rocking back and forth variety, more along the lines of _get me the hell out here, please_ and _are you crazy_ that could end up in gnawing an arm off to escape.  
  
To every _no_ , there was only a firm _yes_ from Ballard.  
  
“You need to make an appointment with Stacey, my secretary, because I’m really not comfortable…with people in my home…Or email me. _No_ , don’t email me! I’m not comfortable with people being in my home who aren’t delivering me food…”  
  
That fear of the Dollhouse’s reach Ballard had talked about was all over Kepler. The fear he showed was the most genuine form of the kind that life could end at any second should the wrong words be said. As Kepler paced around the room with Paul on his heels, Dom could imagine that any words pertaining to the Dollhouse would be the wrong words.  
  
Dom subtly stepped into Kepler’s path, forcing him to turn around and ultimately face Ballard, who was easing closer and doing his best to impart calm and security to Kepler. Dom was looking for Kepler to start climbing the walls at any second.  
  
“Tell me about the Dollhouse.” He followed this up with a placating gesture. “I told you you’re not in trouble.”  
  
Kepler reversed course and rounded the table and ended up at the front door. He pressed his back against it, for all the world looking like a wide-eyed rat in a cage. Kepler shook his head and smiled ruefully, “You’re naïve. If I talk, they’ll kill me. And you. And him,” he said pointing to Dom. “Please, I shouldn’t have said anything.”  
  
In an action that Dom couldn’t have anticipated, Ballard pulled his gun from behind his back much to Kepler’s chagrin. “Now, there’s a gun…” Kepler squirmed like a worm on a hook and Dom watched Ballard for any sign that he was going to tumble off the deep end.  
  
Never in a thousand years would he have expected to play good cop with an actual cop. Talk about crazy.  
  
“Listen, Stephen, my buddy here ain’t known for playing _nice_. I’m willing to let the carrots thing go—you know _slide_ , cuz it’s none of our business.” Dom made a point of saying. He was pretty impressed that the guy could grow a health stash like that without anyone being none the wiser. Dom knew a couple of chulos that would love to do some business and get their hands on such a truly organic product.  
  
He placed a sympathetic hand on Steven’s shoulder, more like a paternal clap. “But I’m willing to bet, Agent Ballard would be okay with lettin’ you take a walk. _If and only if_ you gave us the information that we need.”  
  
“They will kill all of us. Dead. Bang Bang. Clint Eastwood style.” Kepler shook beneath Dom’s hands. Realizing that Dom wouldn’t relent on getting his cooperation, he deflated in defeat. “Are you serious?”  
  
“Do I look like Bugsy Bunny? The last thing we care about is _carrots_.” Dom looked at Ballard over his shoulder, who was still too gun happy for his liking, but nodded at Dom’s look, so Dom did his best to get Kepler on board. “Now Agent Ballard here has a few questions and I promise he’ll play nicely.”  
  
“He doesn’t look nice.” Kepler whined sardonically.  
  
“ _Kepler_ ,” Dom warned. This guy really knew how to push.  
  
Kepler rolled his eyes and nodded silently. “Okay,” he agreed in a whisper.  
  
Still with gun in hand, Ballard approached. “You built the Dollhouse.”  
  
“I built the shell,” Kepler replied.  
  
Ballard crowded around Kepler and Dom, and focused on the former with his shark-like intensity. “Can you open the shell?”  
  
“What if I don’t tell you?” Kepler countered and Ballard thumbed off the safety of his gun in reply. Dom thrust a stiff arm out against Ballard’s chest and made him back up. He was going a bit too far for Dom’s liking and it wouldn’t help them any if Kepler had a heart attack as a result of all of Ballard’s scare tactics. “Okay, possibly. But I don’t know where it is. Plus, that was like a billion years ago and I designed it from here. I _never_ leave here.”  
  
Whatever empathy Ballard had was worn down to the nub and Ballard refused to relent. With so much on the line, Dom wasn’t willing to let Kepler’s phobia keep them away from where they needed to be.  
  
“Well, this will be a real adventure for you, because you’re coming with me.”  
  
Dom scooped up Stephen’s giant rough hewn hippie sweater and gestured for Kepler to leave his little corner and come to him. “Why would I choose to do that?” Kepler retorted, finally showing a little grit.  
  
Cold and flinty, Paul’s eyes flicked from Dom back to Kepler, who had the misfortune of being under their weight. “I don’t remember giving you a choice. You’re coming. End. Of. Story.”He pointed to the door with his gun. “There’s a girl named Caroline and a boy named Lewis, being held against their will by the Dollhouse, and you’re going to help us get them out.”  
  
Dom angled his body between Kepler and the door. “He knows how to get there and you’re the only one who knows how to get inside. If we all play our parts, then this will be pain free for everybody.”  
  
“For the next however long consider yourself my—our partner.” Ballard amended.  
  
The sweater was thrust into Kepler’s arms and he was escorted through the door without being given another chance to protest. “In that case, can I hold the gun?” He asked cheekily.  
  
Paul and Dom shared another look. “We’ll talk about it in the car,” Dom finally said and guided him out of the door and down the corridor.  
  
As they waited for the elevator, Dom looked to Ballard, who was pulled bowstring tight and appeared ready to snap at any second. A smile curled Dom’s lips despite how crazy and terrifying the situation was unraveling to actually be, it was the little things that were giving him something to chew on.  
  
He watched Ballard from the corner of his eye, while keeping his grip firm on Kepler’s upper arm. “You’re just racking up new partners today.”  
  
Kepler twitched and half turned to stare at Dom. “What? He pulled a gun on you too?” He tsked. “That’s not the way to make friends. Very bad Karma, my friend. Really bad.” Kepler mused.  
  
Eyes dead ahead on the elevator, it appeared that Ballard had ignored him, if not for the tick of his jaw. “I’m not here to make friends.” Ballard growled. “Now get in the elevator, so we can get into the car.”  
  
Dom fought to hide his smile, because this was hilarious.  
  
After the short ride down and the seemingly endless walk down the front path, where Stephen’s weight was just about dead under Dom’s hand, they reached the car. With a hard shove from Paul, Kepler tumbled into the backseat. He righted himself in the back and leaned against the front passenger’s seat like he’d collapse under the weight being in the open. “Well with that attitude, I can see why,” he muttered.  
  
And Dom actually laughed.


	5. Five

Twenty-three Flower Street turned out to be in the heart of downtown. Ballard parked just up the block from it. A towering column of glass, steel, and iron, it looked no different than hundreds of other multi-use office buildings in the center of L.A. That was just the surface, of course. Inside, or truthfully, below, was another matter.  
  
How many people had been fooled by the pretty façade?  
  
How many knew and simply didn’t care?  
  
He found it hard to imagine that under this glitzy pillar of modernity that Frankenstein’s brothel lurked beneath. Moving through people’s lives like pawns on a chess board, but some of these pawns lingered, because they mattered to the people they’d ultimately swept through.  
  
“If we take some time, then we can always prepare. Get some supplies, you know? Like rope. Rope’s always good for situations like this. Right, they always have some rope laying around on TV.”  
  
Dom stared up at the building. Kepler did have a point. With only one piece between them, a rolling agoraphobic and a con not yet on the run, he figured they were going into this way too lightly. But the look on Ballard’s face, when Dom turned to suggest that Kepler was right, said that he wouldn’t budge an inch.  
  
So Dom decided to pay close attention when they went in. He was going to find _Brian_ and get him out. Ballard might have his theory about brainwashing and Dolls and all that other cockamamie sci-fi mumbo jumbo, but Dom knew Brian was still Brian unless he said otherwise.  
  
“We’re going now. We have to go now.”  
  
“Why?” Kepler challenged from the backseat.  
  
“Because…” Paul took a deep breath, avoided Dom’s eyes and turned to Kepler. “They had a spy watching me; someone who was very close to me in fact was actually a Doll. So they’ll know I’m coming. The sooner we get there, the better our chances at surprising them.”  
  
He killed the engine and palmed the keys. “The longer we wait the sooner they’ll come to kill me and kill you,” he said to Dom. “And if Kepler’s right? Then we both know it’s only a matter of time.”  
  
Caroline was getting rescued tonight, along with Brian. What about the other one? “You sure you got room for all of them? You, me, Kepler, Caroline, Brian, and the other one. That getaway sounds pretty rough and tight.”  
  
Ballard bowed his head like a man in the midst of prayer and looked away for the last time. “She’s not coming this time. Once I get Caroline, I can come back for her.” The _she_ in question was the spy.  
  
Sure, like they’d let him walk in here a second time. Even if he cared about the other one, Caroline was his target and Ballard wasn’t risking anything he didn’t have to get her back. Dom wouldn’t leave someone he cared about behind. That would be Ballard’s cross to bear. For all of Dom’s faults, he’d learned that family was first and he wouldn’t allow anyone, himself included, to take them away again.  
  
“We’re here. Why do we have to be so close? Kepler’s voice rose into a shriek, while he tried to downplay with a manic chuckle. “Uh, let’s go around the block.”  
  
“Get out of the car,” Ballard commanded. “Now.”  
  
“This is like a bad buddy cop film with bad cop,” Paul “not so bad cop,” Dom “and the guy who hates buddy cop movies, which is me.”  
  
Without preamble, Dom yanked Kepler out of the backseat. “You’re hilarious. Seriously, think about going into stand-up when this is all over, but for now we need you to start thinking straight.”  
  
Ballard crowded Kepler in from the side. “I’d hate to have to show the D.A. your carrot plantation.”  
  
Kepler gaped like a dying fish. Way to forget a promise, Ballard. “Wait, you said…”  
  
Dom cut Stephen off with a wave of his hand. “Yeah, he made a promise, but that’s only if you cooperate, and right now, buddy, you’re being less than stellar.” Jesus, he sounded just like one of those hard-noses that used to come by and rattle his cage when he first got tossed into Lompoc. He used to hate those bastards, now he was doing a pretty good imitation of them.  
  
Ballard opened the trunk and rifled through its contents. Dom heard the sound of clicking metal and knew he’d pull out a couple of tools. That was better than being empty-handed at this point. “I’m sorry to do this, but we’ve got to get in there to save them.”  
  
Still shaking, Kepler tried to rationalize the situation. “If we go in there, then we’re in there. And then there’s other people, lots of other _people_ inside of there to deal with.”  
  
The trunk slammed. Ballard rounded the back of the car and thrust a crowbar into Dom’s hands. “They are not people,” Ballard said with brutal finality.  
  
Now, it was Kepler and Dom, who were sharing a look. Both had taken exception to Ballard’s choice of words. “Let’s go.” Dom pulled Kepler along and they walked into the night, a few feet closer to finally descending into the beast at the heart of the city.  
  
Kepler whispered, “You better watch your friend, we may blow this for you before you get your chance.”  
  
He might have only had two eyes, but Dom was more than capable of watching out for himself, Ballard and Brian. As long as Ballard didn’t blow it before they got their chance.  
  
They stopped just out of sight of a series of cameras secured around the front corners of the building. “Which way?” Ballard asked Kepler.  
  
Kepler pointed to a line of bushes that divided the green space between 23 Flower and the adjacent office building. “First, we go through there.”  
  
They crouched low along the four and half feet tall bushes. The crawl spanned the entire length of the western side of the building. Half way in Kepler was already whining about cramps; Dom grabbed his sweater and pulled him along.  
  
From the back, the building was even larger. It had a wide rectangular base, with over eight stories and sloped down beneath the surface of the street. Another building acted as an overhang, blocking the view below from the neighboring high-rises.  
  
Kepler sighed mournfully as he stared up at the structures ahead. “We have to climb that one and slip down a few stories to the main building and find the heating grates.” He sighed again, “This is why I said we needed rope. It’s going to be a long way up and a long way down.”  
  
Ballard ran ahead to look for a way to scale up the last building, while Dom remained with Kepler. “We’re big boys; I think we can handle it.”  
  
“Yeah, if I could bench-press a car, I’d think the same thing too,” Kepler muttered.  
  
The guy had spunk, even if he was half crazy.  
  
“I’m sure when this is over; Ballard will get you all the rope you want.”  
  
A whistle signaled that Ballard had found something. Kepler continued to mutter to himself, quite disdainfully, from what Dom could hear. “If we make it out of this, I’ll hold him to that.”  
  
As they left the bushes, Kepler told Dom, “You’re not at all what I expected in an FBI agent.”  
  
“Good.” He couldn’t help himself, so he chuckled. This was the most bizarre situation Dom has ever heard of or could have possibly imagined. It would be just his luck that Brian O’Conner would be at the center of it all.  
  
Once reunited with Ballard, Paul showed them just what he’d discovered. Like a stunt in a television show, this rescue operations depended heavily on a closed dumpster, a dirty pigeon-poop covered ledge, the executive lunch patio, a couple of rigged patio tables and chairs, and a deliberate jump.  
  
When they reached the top of the overhanging building, Kepler needed a moment to catch his breath. “Seriously, how are you two even human? You guys jumped up here like circus people. Circus people, the most dangerous species of semi-civilized peoples! That’s unnatural.”  
  
There was no time to stick out his chest because he was proud of his body. “Where to next?” Dom asked as he scanned the base below for cameras and people.  
  
Kepler made a waving gesture that was wholly messy and eventually sussed out to mean around the corner and down below. These buildings were aligned in the strangest configuration. Collective set resembled what a toddler would be more inclined to do with blocks rather than an actual architectural design.  
  
Getting below wasn’t so difficult. Ballard hopped the gate separating the wall leading to the stairs into the utilities wing. He unlocked the gate, allowing Dom and Kepler to pass through. Even a couple of stories up, they could hear the fans going. They were one step closer to cracking this nut wide open.  
  
Ballard went first down the utility ladder, leaving Dom to deal with Kepler, who had a sudden onset fear of heights. Paul did his check of the area and disappeared from sight for about thirty seconds before he whistled for Dom, who essentially pushed Kepler down two stories to reach the grates.  
  
The fans were louder on this level and the heat was higher.  
  
“Alright, you’re up at bat again. Which way?” Ballard flanked Kepler, just in case that fear of heights suddenly wore off and allowed Kepler to make a break for another ladder ten feet away, also leading down.  
  
“Sports metaphors?” Kepler gagged. Realizing that neither Dom nor Ballard was going to indulge him, he became serious. He pulled his sweater tightly around him, despite the heat and took a hard look at the grating. “If memory serves me correctly, we need to follow this grating to the next intersection of the buildings and then we’ll find the access point.” Dom tapped Kepler’s shoulder, directing him to go. Ballard followed behind them, covering their rear.  
  
As they walked the grate panels began to slope, slanting about forty-five degrees as they walked the length of the building. Again, Dom couldn’t fathom how the buildings were intersecting when the buildings didn’t seem so close together.  
  
Of course, he was wrong. At the end of the sloped grating began another flat series of paneling. The walls were outfitted with columns intersected to form window slots along the surface; from far away the surface looked like diamond, up close it looked like the structure was covered in man-made vines.  
  
At the end the panel was a T-Junction. Steam rose through the grating at intervals of every couple of feet. A smaller building, one minus the external thrills of the others, loomed ahead. It was smaller than the rest, making it so easy for it to remain hidden from sight. It merged with the building they were rounding and the mouth of the utility wind rested in the crux of the two buildings.  
  
When Kepler reached the end of the plank, he held onto the wall. “So here it is, now good day?”  
  
He made a break for it, but Dom grabbed him by his collar and held him tight as Ballard kneeled and inspected their way down.  
  
Ballard pulled the top grate up and secured the back latch to the nearest grate bar. “How far down?” He asked Kepler. It looked pretty damn far to Dom. At least three stories.  
  
“It’s ten stories. Again, this is where we’d need the rope.” Kepler whined. He clutched the side of the building, “I’m sorry-- it’s a long way down, but it’s the best way in. Sorry, man. It’s just how it is.”  
  
Paul gestured to the down. “All right, let’s go.”  
  
“No. No way. You really want to go down there?” He crouched lower and tighter to the wall like he was in a hugging contest. “Seriously, it’s not safe.”  
  
Dom pulled Kepler to his feet. He pointed to the open grate. “Did you really expect to show us this and have us give up?” He shook his head at Kepler’s earnest nod. “For a genius, you’re acting real dumb. Just remember the sooner we get down there, the sooner we’re done.”  
  
After releasing his hold on the building, Kepler steeled himself. “I’d been nurturing a tender, throbbing hope that you’d give up…Should’ve known better,” he said as his voice petered out.  
  
“Is this the real way to get in?” Ballard asked one last time. If his eye twitched again, jumping so spastically, then Dom figured Kepler might get shot after all.  
  
Kepler threw his hands up in irritation. “Yes, okay, yes, this is the way down.”  
  
As Dom and Ballard looked at the _long_ way down, Dom figured it would be in poor taste to point out the obvious. So when Ballard said what he was thinking, Dom simply smirked in reply. “Some rope would be nice,” Paul said.  
  
“Oh, yeah, that’s what I was trying to _tell_ you,” Kepler said with dripping sarcasm.  
  
Going down was a matter of holding onto the various pipes, which made jumping and shimmying down all the easier. A well placed ladder got them between stories four through seven. Another round of shimmying and jumping got them to the ladder which covered stories nine and ten. The bottom was a short drop below, no more than seven feet, and Kepler hollered throughout the whole affair. Paul grabbed his feet, while Dom held his hands and lowered him to the ground like he was made of precious porcelain. Dom went down, skittering the last few feet without a hitch.  
  
A simple metal filter lay between them and a concrete air duct. For all Kepler’s bitching, the moment Dom or Ballard uttered ‘Carrots’, he moved forward with a Pavilion reflex. Ballard came to the end of the duct and waved to them to stop. He pushed the air filter down, poked his head out cautiously and swung legs out over the security rails encircling the air duct opening.  
  
Kepler and Dom followed Ballard as he wound his way down concrete stairs and deeper into what actually felt like a large facility. Kepler jumped ahead of Dom when they reached the lower level. Now a series of black doors began to appear and Kepler examined each carefully. His dirty blue eyes roved from the industrial piping above to the unmarked doors.  
  
Once they reached the seventh door, he stopped. “That’s it.”  
  
Ballard vibrated with anticipation; his gun was already in hand should he need to use it. “Are you sure?” If Kepler was right, then they were closer than Ballard had ever been and finally on the threshold of getting answers.  
  
Kepler pointed up to the long piping tracks. “You see the largest tube.”  
  
“Yeah.” Dom said, though the pipes mostly looked the same.  
  
“That’s the refiltered air. The tube adjacent to it is waste water and the tube on the other side of that is clean filtered water.” He scratched his head absently. “I guess they got the kinks of out my system after all.”  
  
Additional lines intersected these larger pipes and ran through the wall above door seven. Dom clutched the crowbar tighter, ready to face whatever lay on the other side of the door.  
  
Through the door what lay before them was not what Dom had been expecting. The walls were wood paneled and covered with frosted glass. The interior was open and spacious with what appeared to be a pond, full of pebbles and sea grass on the bottom floor. It looked like something out of one of Mia’s magazines or textbooks. This place didn’t look like an evil lab.  
  
It looked like a spa.  
  
People dressed in comfortable t-shirts and sweats and those long tight pants that he’d seen plenty of women in LA for yoga walked around freely. Trees grew out of large wooden planters on the bottom floor, and people sat on cushions or at tables without a care in the world.  
  
Dom glanced at Ballard, who appeared to be crushed. Like his worst nightmare had come true and stood before him holding onto his still beating heart.  
  
Kepler had been right. This would only work out if Ballard didn’t blow it for them. “Now that we’re here, what’s the plan?” _Keep him focused._ _Make Ballard keep his shit together_. This was just another quarter mile to live through, if they did manage to live through it.  
  
“It’s real,” Ballard muttered. He shook himself and took a deep breath to calm himself. “I always knew it and here it is.” Ballard all but got whiplash as he turned about, taking in every detail of the place.  
  
Before Ballard got a little too involved with the self congratulations, Dom figured moving to a more discrete location would serve them well. “Why don’t we get away from the eye in the sky? Then, we can figure out the next step.”  
  
Now Kepler decided to clutch Dom’s jacket, sticking close by as he nodded his head like a giant bobble head doll in agreement. “Out of sight means less chance of getting killed on the spot.”  
  
Dom canted his head towards the corner. Paul caught his drift and edged closer to the corner. He surveyed the rest of the floor, which seemed to be empty unlike the light foot traffic from below. Paul slipped away leaving Dom and Kepler to continue observing the strange new world they found themselves in.  
  
It all looked pretty innocuous. Like the sort of place a magazine recommends for the kind of people that have extra money lying around and the extra time to spend it. But it wasn’t as innocent as a resort spa. The fact that Kepler wasn’t droning on in the background spoke volumes about the severity of the situation. At a moment like this, Dom had an instinct to look to his side and catch Brian’s sure and steady blue eyes that spoke words of encouragement when no words seemed to be had.  
  
“Hey,” Ballard whispered, “this way.” They followed Ballard out of the alcove and into the wide spaces of the second floor. The room appeared to be an empty office. Hopefully the occupant of the office was gone for the day and wouldn’t return to the surprise appearance of three guys, a gun and a crowbar.  
  
After a couple of seconds of breathing room, Stephen revved up his chatter engine. “They told me this was going to be the new Eden.”  
  
Ballard scowled at him incredulously. “Eden was never a prison.”  
  
Kepler blinked once, twice; obviously, this was his turn to look at Ballard like he was the one that was high as a kite. “Are you kidding? Eden was the first prison. The apples were monitored. Plus, they didn’t have a system that could recycle sweat into--”  
  
That was far too much information as Dom was concerned.  
  
Dom watched for any passerby through the frosted glass. “We gotta do something about the cameras. As it is, the moment we go back outside they’ll be all over us like rice on beans.”  
  
Kepler tried to dissuade Ballard from going through with this plan for the umpteenth time. Having come this far, neither Ballard nor Dom would be dissuaded. It was time for Kepler to bring something new to table.  
  
Ballard rolled the frosted glass back to get a better view of the floor. “Can you do anything about their surveillance?” He murmured to Kepler, who was still miming and gesticulating like he was lecturing to an audience with the time and will to listen.  
  
Dom pinched him on the shoulder. He jerked up dramatically and scowled like a petulant child at Dom, who waggled his finger in Ballard’s direction. Ballard repeated his question excruciatingly slowly.  
  
Looking off into space, Kepler postulated his answer. “Yeah, maybe. Short answer: from a computer, probably. Long answer--”  
  
Paul shushed him as a shadow passed over the glass. “Short answer’s all we have time for.” He looked to Dom, “Watch him. I’ll be right back. Wait here.”  
  
Normally, the yoke of being a subordinate who grate on Dom’s nerves, but he couldn’t blame Ballard for being so uptight. At this rate, they were getting along like gangbusters, mostly due to Kepler’s inappropriate comic relief.  
  
Kepler continued chattering while Paul slipped out. “If I can get to one computer, then security should be on the same network as life support. But until then,” he paused as his skin washed out and drained of nervous blood, “we’ll suffer from unsightly visibility.”  
  
“I think he’s going to handle that.”  
  
Ballard’s solution to handling the situation came by way of ordering a Doll into the room. The guy followed just as sheepishly. He stood in an empty corner waiting for Ballard’s next command, staring blankly at the wall like a living statue. Dom watched the entire scene with a blooming seed of horror in the middle of his gut. How was any of this real?  
  
“Take off your clothes,” Ballard ordered and the Doll complied without a wink.  
  
Kepler, bundled in his sweater like a smoked-out college kid, hunched his shoulders as if he was trying to disappear. “So that’s your solution? You’re going to dress as a doll.”  
  
Dom looked to Ballard, who looked to him and they simultaneously turned to look at Kepler, who upon realizing what was expected of them, began a litany of “Oh no, no, no, no… Come on, seriously…”.  
  
“Carrots,” Dom reminded him. “Think of the carrots.”  
  
The glare Kepler turned on Dom was disconcertingly sharp. For the life on him, Dom swore he saw something flicker through Kepler’s look of disdain, but it passed over Kepler’s face so fast, he couldn’t separate it from the sheer volume of his disbelief at having to play dress up.  
  
Once they got the doll hidden away, who was still unnaturally docile, and Stephen’s ratty stoner treads away from sight, Ballard led them out of the room. Kepler was still on his self-consciousness kick and required Dom to pull him along.  
  
Ballard stopped in the middle of the floor as a guy, youngish, probably in his twenties walked by. He had the obnoxious nerd style down to the tee. Ballard relaxed into a stance of aloof vigilance, the kind of expression most good security personnel adopt when not in an alert state. Dom did his best to also look inconspicuous, but Kepler’s repetition of _oh my god, I’m gonna die_ was bound to bring some attention.  
  
The Obnoxious Nerd Guy was almost to his office door when he stopped and turned on his heel and cockily addressed them. “Hey,” he walked closer to Ballard, “Person I don’t know…”  
  
Before he could get any closer, Ballard began a spiel about being from upstairs, new security, and rolled up on him and tased him full on in the chest. The Obnoxious Nerd Guy slumped into Ballard’s chest and Dom left Kepler’s side to grab his feet.  
  
The kid was out like a light. “Little heavy handed don’t you think?” Dom could already see drool collecting in the corners of the kid’s mouth; he’d been put down so hard.  
  
Ballard shook his head, “Nope that was just the right touch. He should be out of it for a good long while.”  
  
They dragged the kid inside his office and dropped him on a decent leather couch, where he lay sacked out. Dom closed the door behind him, while Kepler scrambled to reach the computer.  
  
The front half of the room looked like an office, complete with desk, sick looking computers, chairs and the extra geeky touches that socked him the gut when thinking about Jesse.  
  
Behind the row of computers laid a glass wall that looked down into the lower floor. With minimalist wood panels, stone fountains, and feng shui salons for sitting and massages, all the open space and fresh air was to mimic what the people inside didn’t have: open space and fresh air.  
  
“You can take down the security from here, right?” Ballard asked.  
  
Kepler began tapping away at the keys, muttering angrily about Nerd Boy’s paranoia and firewalls. “Give me a minute to observe some security patterns. Maybe I can come up with something or we may have to get me to another computer.”  
  
Rising from the desk, Kepler went to the window and looked down at the set up. He resumed his ramble about his contributions to the place, its architecture and its systems, but in no way was he prepared for the stone cold foxes. Dom reined in his urged to smack him upside the head. This was not the time to work in those horn dog instincts.  
  
Dom caught Paul walking into the second room from the corner of his eye. That room gave off some serious mad scientist vibes. The chair at the heart of the room resembled a cross between a dentist’s chair and a super modern office chair. The metal arch surrounding the head and all the hardware lining the walls, full of twinkling lights and electronic and circuit pulse readings, said this room was used for some heavy stuff.  
  
Ballard walked around the chair, giving it a fine-tuned hawkeyed look. If he’d been Superman, he would have melted the damn thing with his eyes. “This is a bad place and that--” he pointed to the chair, “thing is evil. That’s what it is. It’s evil.”  
  
Kepler scurried away from the window to the threshold of the two rooms. His eyes lingered on the passing set of stone cold foxes and he absently said, “Bad people, maybe, but not the place. Good place.”  
  
“No,” Kepler said, starry-eyed, “it’s the future.” His words held more than an air of finality to them; they seemed almost expectant. As if he possessed the eerily assured foresight to know that this possibility was most definitely a certainty in the time to come. “It’s a closed system. The earth isn’t harmed. The machine feeds them what they need and the machine takes away what it needs.”  
  
When Kepler started in on cells in a body and reducing how unnatural the entire set-up was down to minimal biological components, Dom could see the invisible clock ticking down until eruption on Ballard’s end.  
  
So he interjected, “Can we find another computer for him, so we can get moving? You two are acting like you want to get caught.”  
  
His words were lost on them as Paul reared up for a fight. “You can’t be serious. This is like arguing about sugar versus artificial sweetener. Sure they may look the same, do the same job, but the taste is different. If people can tell the difference in something as simple as that, why wouldn’t they see the cracks in something like this?”  
  
Kepler’s expression turned dark. The little mouse of a man with agoraphobia that they dragged along seemed to be absent in the quiet rage emanating from Kepler now. Obviously, Kepler wasn’t ready to lose this philosophical dog fight. He turned away from Dom and Ballard and faced the computer and vast window ahead.  
  
“Well, I guess you would know, right? The two of you would be experts in sniffing out the real from the fakes like personality bloodhounds.”  
  
That little shit.  
  
Dom found himself chuckling bitterly as Ballard stroked his chin like he’d taken a literal sucker punch to the face. In an exercise of self-restraint, Dom held Ballard back as he lunged for Kepler’s throat.  
  
“Quit it, man.” Dom barked at Ballard, which seemed to cap his anger. “You got us here; you can’t blow the surprise with a hissy fit.”  
  
Paul’s scowl shifted into a grimace once he realized Dom was right. He took a few steps back, pacing a short length of floor as he composed his thoughts. “Okay, Kepler, we need to move on. Can you shut down security from here?”  
  
Kepler, who had also simmered down, tapped away at the computer, shaking his head. “As I already said: not from _here_.”  
  
Forgetting Kepler’s haunting speech about being interchangeable and functional in the future, they followed him down the freestanding wooden staircase. Give the lull in traffic, Kepler took that moment to have another bout of panic, where he freaked over the risers in the stairs and revealed his fear of being grabbed by a mysterious hand while he walked.  
  
Dom rounded on Kepler. This out in the open and they were begging to be noticed. Kepler’s hissy fit was just tempting fate that was just barely on their side and Dom hadn’t come this far to be screwed over because burned out crackpot couldn’t keep it together.  
  
“Really, cut the shit, if we’re going to do this, you need to get yourself together---right quick and in a hurry. Got me? If I have to, I’ll carry your ass down these damn stairs, because we can’t turn back now.” Dom watched as Kepler swallowed so hard, Dom worried he might have pissed himself. “That ain’t even on the table.”  
  
They made Kepler take lead down the steps. He took fantastically large steps in his attempt to usurp the possibility of a phantom hand reaching out and pulling down. Suddenly, they stopped. A woman in a white lab coat exited an office adjacent to the bottom of the stairs.  
  
Leaning against the wall, the three of them waited for her to walk across the impossibly wide center floor. Her black heels clicked with each step, growing quieter as she moved into the darkness at the edge of the room. They didn’t waste further time on the steps. Kepler shortened his steps to a reasonable gait and descended to the bottom, pointing out the terminal he could use to bust the whole thing open.  
  
Breathing low and furiously, Kepler said, “Once I get to the terminal, I can shut down all the security and we can skip out of the elevator pretty as we please.”  
  
That sounded great on Dom’s end. “That’s what I like to hear.”  
  
Another shadow passed across the floor. It was a guy—young about twenty-five, and just as out of it as the rest cow-eyed bunch in this place.  
  
Then Paul stopped, a look of frozen panic growing over his face. “Oh God, I know that guy. That’s Lubov. My whole life isn’t real...They’ve infiltrated my whole life. It isn’t real.”  
  
Dom pushed him along. “You can get them back later, but not right now.” There was no time for panicking now. Kepler’s words began to ring with more truth in his mind as he shoved Ballard along.  
  
Kepler shuffled down the stairs without additional assistance. “Yeah, it’s a small world. We all have to learn to deal with it.” Kepler murmured as they reached the bottom and walked into the doctor’s office.  
  
It was a nice set-up, if the whole house of horrors motif could be overlooked.  
  
The moment the door closed, Paul was off like a dog with a scent. Another door lay at the edge of the room and Paul was chomping at the bit to get to Caroline. “Just point me to where they sleep. Is it that way?” He inclined his head in the direction of the door, already taking steps to find out if it was.  
  
“Calm down, compose yourself, man. You need to cool off.” For once, Kepler was making sense.  
  
Dom approached Ballard. He stepped directly into his line of sight, thus cutting off his view of the mysterious door. “We’re this close to the finish line. You can’t start running off the rails now, when we’re this close. Think, man. Seriously, just keep it together for a little longer.”  
  
Dom hoped his words penetrated that bubble full of stubborn. When he turned back to Kepler, he saw him hammering away at the keys, smiling like a maniac; he guessed everything was finally all things were coming up roses for Kepler.  
  
“What are you doing?” Dom asked as he neared the desk.  
  
Kepler looked momentarily frazzled. “I can’t take out security but I can adjust the environmental conditions, meaning they won’t wake up if the alarms go off.” He paused and tapped away some more at the computer. “Each pod is locked and if the light’s on inside, that’s how you’ll know. I’ll manually disengage the locks. When the lights go out--”  
  
 _Open them like oysters_ , Kepler had said. “We can open them up.” Dom stated.  
  
“But not before the light goes off,” Kepler reiterated without looking away from the computer screen. “If you try to open a pod before the light goes off, then all hell is going to break loose. So go.”  
  
Holding the crowbar seemed a little unnecessary at this point. He was sure they had security within the Dollhouse, but the real lack of seeing any and the meek behavior of its occupants gave him pause for bringing it. He laid the crowbar on the desk and narrowed his thoughts down to the moment he found Brian.  
  
Kepler looked up from his computer. “Why are you still here? I told you two to go. ” He got up and gestured for Ballard and Dom to go. “Wait,” he wrung his hands as he thought, “Go that way,” he said, indicating the hallway straight ahead and off to the right.  
  
The hall was still clear. Modern art pieces decorated the walls and the carpet was lush and thick, the type the encouraged bare feet to cross its threads. They neared a new set of glass walls. An opening appeared. This was it.  
  
As they stood inside, this reality suddenly became far too real for Dom. Upon first glance, the room looked like a fancy showroom in a furniture store, a display of comfortable selections that people tend to admire, but never really use. At the center of the room lay a round ottoman. Below it ,like spokes radiating from the center on a bicycle, lay the pods. He got the same shiver up his spine like when he was eleven and watched a midnight showing of Invasion of The Body Snatchers, except this time, in reality; the pods were neither green and plant-like nor alien in origin. This was all human-made.  
  
They watched as the lights slowly faded from each one and waited.  
  
Dom positioned himself over the back three. He rolled away the first one, revealing Lubov, who they’d just seen on the stairs. The guy didn’t flinch a muscle, laid there stone still and basically dead until dawn. He slid the glass back into place and moved on the next one, which was empty. The one after that had another man, not Brian though, and Dom rolled the lid into place, careless of his strength.  
  
Ballard was still fixed on the same one, making Dom wonder which one it was inside the pod. As Ballard slid the pod shut, he knew it was the one that he wouldn’t be saving tonight. It wasn’t Caroline. This must have been the one that slipped inside Paul’s life and hurt him with the same deathly intention as a knife to the back.  
  
Hadn’t it been the same way with Brian? Threading his way through Dom’s life, fitting into all the empty spaces that resonated—hollowed out and echoing like a pebble in a dry oil pan; only to tremble at an invisible frequency with enough ferocity to shake Dom’s entire world off its axis. He blinked, cleared his head, and shuffled out any lingering stirrings of emotional vertigo.  
  
Paul turned his head to the side, blinking hard and Dom ignored the huskiness in his voice or the creeping flush in his face. “You find him?” Ballard asked in a raspy voice, as he moved to the last one.  
  
“No,” Dom said, “I’m going to the next room,” which had been instinct number one since the first set of pods turned out to be a bust.  
  
“Yeah, you do that,” Ballard said after a pregnant exhale. He fell to his knees beside the last pod and hesitated as he reached out for the glass. His hand didn’t tremble when it finally made contact with the glass surface; it just lay there as Ballard deliberated taking that final step.  
  
The relief in his body as he pulled the glass told Dom who he’d just found. It was finally Caroline. Dom would leave him to it.  
  
Dom spared a quick look around the entrance to the sleep chamber. Finding the carpeted hall clear, Dom took off towards the other end. About ten feet up, another wall of glass appeared and his steps became slow and cautious as he scanned the corners of the room before walking inside. The lights had gone out in the three farthest from the doorway first. A fleeting thought about leaving his back exposed for the last two crossed his mind, but Dom couldn’t focus on it. He had to know. He had to find Brian.  
  
The first one was a woman, dark ebony skin with bones that looked unspeakably fragile. The next was a man, young Hispanic looking. The last two lights dimmed as he closed the third pod, a woman with bright red hair.  
  
Dom kneeled over the next pod, off the right side of the doorway and hoped this was it. The glass slid back without a sound. The moment he saw the tips of blond curls, he knew who it was. The glass panel soundlessly rolled down to the bottom of the pod. Dom’s breath caught in his throat, because under his hands was Brian O’Conner, who appeared peacefully sleeping the sleep of the dead.  
  
Sprawled back on a single thin mattress covered in a soft sheet and single pillow, Brian lay so still that Dom shivered, suddenly reminded of a rosy cadaver on a slab. Reconciling the vibrating space in his life, having been empty once again for months until this moment, with this stillness to the space that had been cut and plastered to fit Brian’s shape, cut him deep inside from chest to gut. Brian O’Conner breezed through Dom’s life on the gale force winds of a hurricane, blowing things over, reshaping everything and leaving Dom reeling in the best way possible.  
  
Those dreams strange and prophetic had led him here. To looking down at Brian, whose face was clear and free of scars or shards of glass, who looked more like the man he’d met years prior than the one who’d rode at his side in his quest for vengeance. Seeing Brian like this, so still and _doll-like_ , Dom was surprised to not find Brian’s hands folded over his chest. Wasn’t that the way all bodies in boxes looked? The soon-to-be-buried and ghouls alike?  
  
But Brian slept, chest rising and falling softly without extra frills, just smooth motion without the weight of dreams and old ghosts to slow him down.  
  
Dom sank fully to his knees beside the pod and angled his face over Brian’s. A casual observer would have remarked that the moment Dom reached down for Brian looked like something out a fairy tale: the brave hero came to lift the curse placed on his beloved. A kiss always managed to wake the accursed, but Dom touched Brian, found his hands determinately moving towards the messy crop of blond curls that had sprung up over the months of separation. They curled over his fingers, loose and springy, coiling over Dom’s blunt fingertips like they were trying to keep him in place. Just as soft as he’d imagined them to be.  
  
“Brian,” he whispered to no response. “Brian,” he whispered again, shaking him gently.  
  
Dark lashes flutter once, twice, before rolling upwards, revealing blue eyes so intense that they penetrated right through Dom’s core.  
  
Dom smiled down at Brian, who mimicked his expression sleepily. “That’s right, O’Conner. It’s me saving you this time.”  
  
As he reached inside to pull Brian up, Brian’s hand rose up and touched the back of Dom’s head and roamed down to touch his cheek, then his fingers traced his lips. “Fast,” he said, “You like to go fast,” he murmured dreamily.  
  
Despite what Ballard had said, Dom _knew_ Brian would know him. Brian clung to Dom’s shoulders and Dom hoisted him out of the pod. Brian’s weight felt good in his arms. It felt far better than dead weight. “That’s right, Brian. I like to go fast.”  
  
Brian pressed his face into Dom’s neck and breathed his skin. Dom could have used a little help getting Brian’s impossibly long legs from beneath the glass, but having Brian’s warm breath tickle his neck made the extra effort worth it.  
  
Just one more pull and Brian would be free.  
  
A safety was thumbed off behind his head. “Looks like you wandered into the wrong pasture, Cowboy.”  
  
Brian looked up from Dom’s neck and breathed out a bubbly, “Hobbs.”  
  
“That’s right, Blondie.” The gun pressed into the back of Dom’s skull. “Now, why don’t you let Blondie go, so you and I can talk mano a mano.”  
  
Dom clung tighter to Brian, considering his few set of options at the moment. He lowered his mouth to Brian’s ear and whispered, “Stay here.” Brian’s small nod, told him that message had been delivered and understood.  
  
He released Brian who sank back into the pod. His drop inside reminded Dom of tossing stones in the ocean and no matter how many times they skipped, they ultimately sank to the bottom. Brian watched him with Caribbean blue eyes, and he felt those rolling waves of tension solidify into a ball of fight and fury in his gut. Hobbs wouldn’t know what hit him.  
  
“Lance, go see Doctor Saunders.” Hobbs, the man at Dom’s back, ordered. Brian didn’t move an inch. “Lance, go.” Hobbs commanded sharply.  
  
Brian looked at Dom for a few long moments before rising from the pod. He walked around Dom, holding his eye until he couldn’t anymore. “You hurt, Dee?” He asked Hobbs. And Dom smiled. For all the brainwashing, Brian still knew exactly who he was.  
  
Hobbs paused and Dom felt the gun pull back. “What did you say?” Hobbs asked Brian.  
  
That little distraction allowed Dom to make his move. Dom turned suddenly shot his fist into Hobbs’ knee. Hobbs collapsed like a tree in the woods, falling loud and heavily on the wooden floor. He rolled on top off Hobbs, knocking away his gun and landed three square his to the face.  
  
“Run!” Dom shouted to Brian, who took off down the hall.  
  
Hobbs countered by slamming his elbow repeatedly into Dom’s ribs. Each blow landed with a force that Dom hadn’t felt since he’d been slammed into by that semi. Hobbs leapt to his feet like a goddamn ninja. Dom sized up Hobbs, who happened to have a couple inches on him in height and across the shoulders, meaning his punches were longer and stronger.  
  
Dom smirked; he’d have to think faster. “That all you got? If I wanted a couple of love taps, I woulda stayed home and played footsie with your mama.”  
  
Laughter bubbled up from Hobbs’ throat like a spring—light, effervescent, contagious; the sort that was infectious after one too many Coronas or shots of cheap Tequila. If Dom returned Hobb’s hyper-white smile, it was surely on reflex. “You think you can just roll in here and take him. Well, that’s just not gonna happen, Chief. Lance is at home, here, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”  
  
Dom wiped away the blood on his chin. “I just walked in here, so I figured I'd walk right on out,” Dom emphasized with spread arms.  
  
Hobbs laughed, displaying beautiful pearly white teeth; shark’s grin that promised blood in equal measure. “I heard you were some sort of badass sonuvabitch. Didn’t know you were also a dumb sonuvabitch.” He rolled his tongue over his teeth and made a small grimace at the subtle metallic taste of blood in his mouth. “I’m going to enjoy taking you down, Toretto. You’re going to learn what it means to be dropped like a hot stone, Chief.”  
  
Hobbs was lucky Dom didn’t have that crowbar or he’d go right upside his head with it. If there was one thing Dom had no tolerance for, it was disparaging comments about his parentage. Max Alvarez learned that lesson hard and dirty style in the fourth grade.  
  
“You’re not keeping him here.” No one deserved to live inside of cage with no possibility of freedom. And Brian certainly didn’t. “I’ll go through you or around you. Brian is walking out of here tonight.”  
  
Laughing Hobbs spat blood on the floor. “Man, you are so dead, you don’t even know it. The moment you stepped foot in this place, you signed your death certificate, and I’m just the hangman shuffling you to the top of the list at the gallows. Shoulda stayed in County, Shorty, Lance is doing just fine here.”  
  
Fucking codename bullshit. “His name ain’t Lance,” Dom growled as charged Hobbs. He rammed his shoulder into Hobbs’ gut, causing him to collide with one of the terrariums lining the back wall.  
  
Hobbs rammed his fists into the center of Dom’s back and followed the blows up with a hard knee to gut. Dom kicked out, catching Hobbs’ lower legs, bringing him down again. Hobbs flew at Dom, laying him out on the floor. Dom soaked up the hits to the body and the face, crashed his head into Hobbs when the opportunity presented itself.  
  
His mouth was raw, lips bloody and eyes stinging, but he’d gotten Hobbs just as good. Dom threw the ottoman at Hobbs, which connected solidly, snapped his head back and laid him out. Dom took that moment to run out down the hall and find Brian. When he entered the main hall, he saw a woman in a red nightgown watching as the fucker who’d pistol-whipped him put Ballard down for the count.  
  
Dom turned towards the doctor’s office, when he lost his balance and landed on a series of stools near the fountain. His ribs sang like the Charger had fallen on top of him. Hobbs rolled up slowly off Dom. “That’s for the cheap shot, Shorty.”  
  
And then there were handcuffs.


	6. Six

Hobbs, first name—Lucas, slapped a pair of cuffs on Dom and hauled him to his feet with the enthusiasm that one might throw a sack of potatoes. Dom’s left temple throbbed from its impact with a low planter below the wood platform with yoga mats.  
  
Ballard swayed on his feet, rocking slightly from foot to foot like a buoy on the sea as he tried to regain his equilibrium. The bracelets snapped around Ballard’s wrist and the smartly dressed Redbone guy, who put them there, looked exceptionally pleased with himself, despite the cuts and blood weeping sluggishly over his face.  
  
A couple of smartly dressed security materialized from the ether surrounding the dark corners of the atrium. They stood as sentries with guns trained on Dom and Ballard, ready to fill them with enough holes to make Swiss cheese jealous.  
  
Redbone called out to Caroline, now referred to as Echo, who listened intently. He ordered her to stay in the atrium much to the chagrin of Ballard, who opened his mouth to protest, only to be punched in the mouth to keep him quiet. Echo did as she was told and watched as Dom and Ballard were ceremoniously frog-marched through the dark and into an elevator that only went up.  
  
The elevator crawled upwards, giving Dom time to think. Kepler was still down there, as of yet uncaptured, in Dr. Sander’s office with Brian, not Lance, because that would fuck Dom’s worldview more than it already was, and Echo was in the atrium. If Kepler could man-up for a little while and just keep them there, then the next step was summarily figuring out how to make tracks from wherever they were going now.  
  
Dom looked over at the Ballard, whose eyes were trained forward, tracking Echo’s last steps across the floor. Having seen the full picture, he could see the surface aspect of Paul’s fascination. Big brown eyes and pouty pink lips, all mixed up with so much innocence that she screamed for a protector. But there was something else, for all the innocence and softness that Dom could see on the surface that said _Echo_ could really tear shit up, if given the chance. Toughness didn’t radiate from her like sunshine reflecting off of glass as it did with Letty; it just showed up in flashes like flecks of gold in a stream.  
  
Hobbs interrupted Dom’s thoughts with a cheery singsong of “Now, here comes the fun part.” The elevator doors opened to a moodily lit hall. More carpet and modern art pieces lined the walls, giving the surface impression of finally being in a legit office building, and they walked out slowly with Hobbs behind Dom, smirking with every step, and Redbone behind Ballard.  
  
At the end of the hall lay a set of wooden double doors, unmarked and waiting, for them to pass through; with threatened consequences just waiting on their other side. The extra set of security made itself useful by opening the door and standing aside so Dom and Paul could be led to face the big bad boss.  
  
The moment lacked the suspense always portrayed in movies. Inside the office, sleek and wide open with flowing corners that merged into wall length widows overlooking L.A., resided no one who smoked a thick cigar or wore a immaculately cut suit that screamed _sophisticated devil_. What they go was a smart looking woman, about average height, close to touching distance of forty on either side, wearing the sort of clothes and high heels that would make her feel right at home in either a boardroom or a college campus.  
  
She sat behind her desk with legs crossed as Paul and Dom were forced to kneel before her like subjugated captives. “It seems our happy home has been disturbed this evening. I trust these gentlemen didn’t do too much damage,” she said in a soft English accent that rose and fell like a sinuous wave.  
  
“The welcome was a little hard,” Dom joked drily and jerked his shoulder from beneath Hobbs’ sweaty hand. Dom suspected Hobbs had some sort of glandular problem, because that seemed the only logical reason for him to be sweating so profusely in air conditioning. “Coulda been a little nicer is all.”  
  
The lady boss tilted her head to the side, regarding him like a fascinating subspecies of insect, and finally smiled at him so patronizingly that Dom was glad he had a code about hitting women. _So brave, yet so stupid_ , her eyes declared.  
  
She sank deeper into her chair made of comfortable leather, flicked one of her sculpted eyebrows with the subtly of a whip, and intoned sarcastically, “Well, I’m sure Mr. Boyd and Mr. Hobbs will take your criticisms into account the next time we have unexpected guests on our doorstep. Hospitality is one of those social graces we can ill afford to mess up.”  
  
“Right, Ms.--”  
  
“DeWitt, Mr. Toretto.” She smiled and shifted her shoulders lazily, as if this was a meet between old friends, rather than a lady villain, her Men’s Warehouse outfitted thugs, and two would-be heroes, who’d gotten their asses kicked.  
  
“Don’t look shocked, Mr. Toretto. I know all about you.” DeWitt tapped a stack of files at the corner of her desk; the insinuation clear with each click of her nails upon the surface— _you, your life and all the puppet strings._  
  
“We have been aware of Mr. Ballard’s almost single-minded pursuit of this house. I hadn’t been made aware that you too had joined the hunt, Mr. Toretto, which has been rather surprising. Though I should stop being surprised when it comes to you, correct?”  
  
Seeing all the apparent angles was imperative to get him out of this. He’d have to work as many as he could. So Dom decided to rise to her challenge. “Why’s that? Think you got it all figured out? I’m _all_ ears, Lady, so hit me.”  
  
Hobbs, who didn’t take kindly to his boss being sassed, kicked Dom in the calf. Dom turned a slow cold glare at him and as he grit his teeth, vowed to knock that smile off his face before this was all over.  
  
DeWitt gestured for Hobbs to back off. “I was hesitant about Lance’s engagements with you. Being a man of your,” she paused, considering her words purposefully, “ _background_ ,” not what she was really going for, but choice words nonetheless, “I worried for Lance, not wanting him to get hurt, and he hasn’t been until this most recent encounter. But each time, he comes back a little _different_. Not hard to catch, just hard to diagnose.”  
  
“What can I say? I’m a bad influence,” Dom replied. He smirked despite the sting at the corners of his mouth, because it would only stick in DeWitt’s craw more.  
  
She sobered slightly, anger finally taking shape behind those inscrutable brown eyes. “That you are, Mr. Toretto, maybe more so now that you have found yourself in alliance with Mr. Ballard, who must feel quite accomplished at the moment, despite appearances.”  
  
Paul’s straightened his back as he looked from DeWitt to Boyd, drawing out the look and imbuing it with so much expected vindication that Dom worried he would choke on his smugness. “Despite all your tricks, I found it, didn’t I?” Paul said defiantly. Ballard pinned her with eyes so steely they’d fry her like an egg on the sidewalk in August if given the opportunity.  
  
Ballard spat blood on DeWitt’s floor. “You’re digging yourselves so deep, you have no idea.” Even now, tied up, face bloodied and ass thoroughly kicked, he remained defiant. “I am a federal agent.”  
  
DeWitt rolled her eyes, while Hobbs chuckled lowly behind them, while Boyd tried to look unfalteringly calm. “You have been suspended and are therefore, no longer protected by those laws.” She made it beyond crystal clear that she was in charge here, and that Ballard’s supposed authority could take a hike. Dom wondered how much trouble he’d have been in if this had worked like Ballard had hoped. Not that Dom considered going back to jail; he just didn’t take kindly to being played, especially by another cop.  
  
“You really justify this?” Ballard pointedly asked Mr. Boyd Langton aka the fucker that tried to scramble Dom’s brains with his gun. “You say you protect her, but you’re letting Caroline be used like cattle.”  
  
Boyd shook his head, shoring his authority, but still lacking in apparent brass balls like DeWitt. “You two tried to assault and kidnap two of our residents, so we are well within our rights to defend them as we please.” Mr. Boyd said indignantly.  
  
“Kidnapping, you say?” Dom nodded absently, smiling despite the gruesome picture presented. “I thought they were calling it liberation these days.” He wasn’t the one for mixing or mincing words. Dom made deliberate statements; point blank, end of discuss; he wasn’t here to argue philosophical semantics, when the matter was so black and white, it was a damn zebra.  
  
Ms. DeWitt regarded Dom with a frowning smile. The sort best reserved for a cute puppy that had just pissed on the carpet. “Well, there’s indignation enough for everyone to have seconds.”  
  
Dom said, “But we’ll get the biggest pieces of that pie.” His mouth felt like it had had a fight with a weed whacker.  
  
Finally, reaching his quota of bullshit, Ballard tried to scramble to his feet. Only to be pushed down hard by Hobbs. “If you didn’t want me snooping around, then why all the games? You put these characters in my life and tried to kill me twice!” Ballard shouted.  
  
There were missing pieces to Ballard’s story, but Dom had seen three of the pieces tonight. Caroline, Lubov and the one in the pod. That took serious juice, like the Cigarette Man in the X-Files or Dick Cheney clearance juice to pull something like this over on a Fed.  
  
“Have you considered that it was a good thing I failed?” DeWitt admitted. Dom knew for a fact that he hadn’t. So long embroiled in this shit, that his vision only had two settings: right and wrong, and any gray in-betweens were lost on him, as it should be, Dom considered.  
  
If she had succeeded, Dom wouldn’t be here. Would probably still be in jail, ticking down the days until he was shuttled off to Lompoc for the rest of his life, while Brian codename Lance lived here like doll, to be played with and dressed up for the highest bidder.  
  
On a roll with fury and unrestrained righteousness, Ballard continued to bluster, “I don’t care if these people have signed themselves over to you. There’s no justifying consensual slavery--nothing.” He vibrated with rage, daring anyone to disagree. Because cuffs or no, he was ready to fight again.  
  
 _Finally_ , Dom thought.  
  
Hobbs began to cackle again, as untimely and out of place as it was, it earned a smile from DeWitt. He was like her big bald, parrot with stupid facial hair. “You know _so many things_ , don’t you? You two swoop in here to free Echo and Lance and you’re missing so many pieces, I’m surprised you haven’t blinded yourselves yet.”  
  
She walked to her window and surveyed the city below. Her expression was pensive and about as open as quick sand. “You know dates, faces and presumed facts. But there are things you know that you don’t even realize that you know; Agent Trinh for example.” She motioned at Dom.  
  
Both Ballard and Dom perked up at the name. Trinh had interviewed Dom after Braga’s capture and from the looks of the corners of Ballard’s frown; he’d worked with Trinh in some capacity. “Actually, she’s our Assistant Chief Programmer. Sometimes, we have to send her out with difficult cases.”  
  
She looked at Dom thoughtfully. “Lance has always been difficult when it’s come to engagements with you, so we requisitioned another set of eyes to watch him.”  
  
There was no feeling bad about this. Considering the Feds were being fooled at all turns, Dom couldn’t find fault in himself for not knowing right away that a shadowy agency was spidering its way through his life. So he had to stick to the concrete facts: he knew Brian O’Conner and O’Conner knew him, Brian had saved his bacon from the fire more times than he could count: brainwashed or not, Lance aka doll-Brian knew him, and Dom took care of the people he loved.  
  
“What can I say? Brian and I just click.” He made a point of saying.  
  
Rolling her eyes, she shook her head and huffed out an acerbic snicker. “ _Brian_ does not exist, Mr. Toretto, yet you persist in acting like he does.” She leaned against the corner of her desk with the cool grace of detached royalty, and her gaze was literally scorching. “He is a construct,” she explained haltingly, “a tool, a profile; points archetyped into a personality and that is all.”  
  
He ground his teeth.  
  
 _Hold it together. Hold it together._  
  
His anger had been on a slow simmer, boiling just below the surface of his skin, but racketing higher until his vision was tinted in a haze of red. All that fury he’d brought down on Fenix and Braga was only a fraction of what he’d rain down on this place. Finally, Ballard’s dogged belief in taking this place, dismantling it from every angle stuck in Dom’s craw, and he couldn’t wait to see it burn. Arson had never been his thing, but this _technology_ and this place needed to scorched from the Earth, and he’d gladly bring the matches and the gas can.  
  
Forget what Boss Lady said. Dom remembered _Brian_ ’s eyes and the knowledge that lay within them. He’d keep his mouth shut, because he knew better. _He remembered me. He looked me in the eye and told me he remembered me._  
  
Satisfied that she’d verbally bitchslapped him into submission, she turned back to the window and resumed her observation. “Mr. Langton, what is your opinion of placing these two gentlemen in the Attic?”  
  
Mr. Langton’s response started with a furrowed brow, a shadow of concern gridlocking his features as he weighed and ultimately disagreed with her proposed punishment. “Adelle, that’s… harsh.” Boyd replied.  
  
To be left out of a conversation about crime and punishment, Hobbs stepped forward. “I think it’s perfect, Ma’am,” Hobbs said. “I couldn’t agree more actually.” Of course, he couldn’t and Dom couldn’t wait to pay him back for that sucker punch.  
  
Happy with at least one vote of assent, DeWitt turned to Boyd, letting her displeasure be read clearly on her face. “I don’t need your consent, Mr. Langton.”  
  
Boyd held his ground. “You asked my opinion and my opinion is that these gentlemen did not agree to go into the system nor do I believe their crimes fit that sort of permanent punishment.” Irony had a funny sense of humor to make Lady Boss’ Chief Enforcer the one with some sense of right and wrong.  
  
The Attic didn’t sound like being made into a doll. The Attic sounded permanent, like a prison, and Dom wasn’t doing any more time in anyone’s prison.  
  
The phone rang. Boyd answered and passed it immediately to DeWitt. She listened intently, her brow furrowed deeper and deeper in worry. Finally, she turned to Boyd, miming for him to take something down. “Stephen J. Kepler.”  
  
Ballard and Dom shared a look. Had they just realized that Kepler was downstairs? Boyd read the information generated about Kepler, mostly raked over the fact that he was a contractor on the Dollhouse ten years ago, and Dom and Ballard remained silent about their partner in absentia. DeWitt’s attention was tuned to the monitors and Boyd and Hobbs followed suit.  
  
Even with her back to them, Dom could read the moment when Kepler had been discovered. But the way her spine lost its steel was far more curious than as she watched the security feed. “Alpha isn’t in Tucson,” she said quietly, like someone had just stolen the wind from her sails.  
  
Dom could make out the room with the chair behind the frosted glass. Light exploded beyond the opaque façade and the faces of the DeWitt and Co. grew grimmer.  
  
Hobbs drew his gun, thumbed the safety and took position by the door. His ever-present smile evaporated, leaving behind flinty eyes set above a hair trigger, ready to blast Kepler, Alpha, or whoever decided to come through that door.  
  
Boyd made moves towards rounding up the troops. “I’ll call security,” Boyd said before reaching for the phone which suddenly began to ring under his hand.  
  
“Answer it,” DeWitt commanded, her eyes still looked on the light show that the just ended.  
  
Boyd looked down at the phone and answered a stilted, “Yes,” He listened intently and pulled the phone and pressed the speaker button.  
  
“Adelle, it’s been a long time.” Said the voice of Stephen J. Kepler, as Dom and Ballard knew him minus the penetrating cowardice and jittery stoner ticks.  
  
DeWitt hovered above the phone; head low between her shoulders and her hands spread about the desk, grasping the edges tightly like purchase on the table was the only thing keeping her from disconnecting the line and doing something rash. “It hasn’t been long enough. What are you doing here, Alpha?”  
  
Alpha tittered across the line. “Aw, you didn’t miss me. Well, I missed you and all the fun times we had here. I just had to come back and get two of my friends.” On the screen his movements were still blurred by the frosted glass and the lights oscillating between him.  
  
DeWitt’s gaze shifted from Boyd to Hobbs, who communicated silently that she should keep him talking. “Alpha, I am going to ask you not to harm them, though I’m not sure any request will prevent that.” Her tone was as docile as she could make it, which was difficult with the backbone of reigning authority that her words seemed to carry.  
  
“Adelle,” he tsked, “I’m not here to harm them. Echo, Lance and I are going to have a party. Sorry, you’re not invited, but my friend Dominic is. Send him down, alright. Lance is getting antsy without him.”  
  
“Alpha--”  
  
He cut her off. “Just remember I make the fun and games, so don’t try any tricks to rain on my parade. Now send Toretto down to the lab.”The line went silent. Without the sound of the dialtone, it was hard to say whether Alpha was still waiting for a response.  
  
“Alpha?” She asked.  
  
“Still here, DeWitt, just got distracted is all,” his voice protracted into a drawl. The lights had stopped inside of the lab, which caused a new cloud of worry to descend over the room. “Forgot to mention, as cliché as it is, that if I see anyone other than Toretto come down, then I might find myself feeling a little _artistic_.”  
  
Then, the line went dead.  
  
DeWitt stalked away from the phone to the window. Hobbs and Boyd clamored for answers, which she squelched with a raised hand. She needed time to think, so they gave it to her.  
  
Finally, she squared her shoulders once more and turned on her expensive heels to face the men waiting for her decision. DeWitt strode across the room to stand before Dom and Ballard, though her eyes were sole trained on Dom, assessing him with the same scrutiny he might assess a track before gunning it. “Today, it seems is all about surprises. Some far more welcome than others. I must say that I’m not at all surprised to see Mr. Ballard, however, you, Mr. Toretto are completely unexpected.”  
  
He shrugged, returning her unrelenting stare with one of his own. “Like a big gift minus the wrapping paper.”  
  
Everything about Adele DeWitt radiated precision, from each measured step in her walk to the careful and deliberate way that she spoke. Dom assumed she did so to prevent being misunderstood.  
  
“Mr. Toretto, though this is the first time that we are meeting face to face, I do know that you have a knack for surviving precarious situations. By walking out that door,” she gestured to the entrance to her office, “you will be placing yourself within a situation where your survival is not only unlikely, but probably has been calculated by Alpha, as we speak.”  
  
She stalked closer putting herself as close to eyelevel with Dom as her pointy black heels would allow. “Should you manage to survive and can keep minimal harm from coming to Echo and Lance, then I shall honor any agreement that you made with Mr. Ballard.”  
  
DeWitt motioned for Hobbs to come forward and unlock the cuffs around Dom’s wrist as a show of good faith, that was a good start, but he’d been screwed before and needed all the insurance he could get. “This isn’t the time for us to debate trust, but if things come out sunny side up, how do I know that you’ll honor your agreement?”He asked as he rolled up to his feet without grimacing from the aches of his protesting body.  
  
She took a couple of sure steps to place herself toe to toe with Dom. Adele stared with her eyes hard like those that have known real panic, danger sudden and unexpected, and lethal. DeWitt’s hard edge came from a place that said protect and _kill_ were intertwined under the right and wrong circumstances; each relative to who happened to be on each side. He had no problems respecting that.  
  
“Because unlike Mr. Ballard, I have the means to keep my promises,” she leaned forward, deliberately invading Dom’s space. “And considering that your freedom is in a delicate state, I could see to it that you not only walk away scot-free, but that Antonio Braga confesses to the murder of Leticia Ortiz, all the other drivers he hired and his attempts to have you murdered as well.”  
  
DeWitt stuck her hand out as she reeled off the last part of her offer. “In addition to him going away for a long, long time, I can see that your sister is taken care of financially for the remainder of her studies, and that you yourself are pardoned and paid fairly, if you can keep the three of you alive.”  
  
Nothing she had said struck him as bullshit. From Paul’s sour face, Dom would’ve bet the Charger on her giving Ballard only a kick in the ass and bullet to the back. With the odds so stacked against him, it would be wise to have this little deal in his back pocket. A real get out of jail card. One that was about to be well-earned.  
  
“Deal,” he said and DeWitt gestured to the suit to let him up.  
  
DeWitt took several steps back and turned her back to watch the security monitors. Alpha had slipped behind a double set of frosted doors with Echo and Lance. Flickers of light pumped through the clear spaces, leaving Dom to wonder what was happening. The tight thin line of DeWitt’s mouth grew sharper with each second. Clearly, she had a clue about what was happening and from her expression, Dom surmised that it was all bad.  
  
“Alpha has a genius level intellect, making it virtually impossible to outsmart him. Play along by being the sympathetic hostage and things may run as smoothly as we can only hope.”  
  
“Got it.”  
  
Dom looked back at the other suit, the one that had taken Brian in the first place, and made the mental promise to punch that guy in the face. He owed him for the pistol-whipping. Ballard gave him a hard gaze, one that Dom returned in full. Now that he’d found Ballard out, he should be the one angry. He could have jeopardized everything on promises that Ballard couldn’t deliver, not that he fully expected to wait that long for the payout.  
  
“I’ll take care of ‘em,” he said to Ballard, who looked only slightly less ticked about the turn the evenings events had taken.  
  
“You do that,” Ballard replied, before Dom followed Hobbs out the door.  


~*~*~*~

  
  
The elevator would have been the perfect place for Dom and Hobbs to finish what they started. However considering what waited at the end of the trip, Dom knew as much as wanted to see Hobbs’ face as he popped him one in the mouth, walking out of the elevator with a level head trumped making Hobbs bleed.  
  
“Do what DeWitt told you.”  
  
“I’ll try.”  
  
“There’s no try. There’s only will or won’t. Alpha’s not some jalopy you can hotwire and trick out to your specification. As soon as you step out of this elevator consider yourself the jalopy. And he’s gonna ride you until you either break or he kills you.”  
  
“Don’t sound like you got much faith in this.”  
  
“Honestly, Toretto, you may be King Street Punk, but you know shit-all about what’s happening here. This thing between you and Lance—You’re like a bug in his system that we can’t get out. Like Herpes but a million times larger. Now Alpha’s in it--”  
  
Dom understood where he was coming from with his worry for Lance—for Brian, but that Herpes crack wouldn’t go resolved. “How long you been watching out for him?”  
  
“As long as he’s been here. I protect him. That’s my job, not someone who’s had two engagements with him over six years.”Hobbs went silent. “Lance is special.”  
  
“Yeah, he is,” Dom agreed.  
  
The elevator glided to a smooth stop. Before the doors opened, Hobbs stood on guard, ready for a fight should there be one, said, “Just try to not let them get hurt, okay? Play his game as long as you can, and we’ll do our best to get to you guys.”  
  
“No warm wishes for me?”  
  
“I don’t want to jinx you.”  
  
The doors opened.  
  
“See you soon, Toretto.”  
  
Dom wore a sideways smile as he stepped out of the elevator and oriented himself towards the atrium. “You will.”  
  
He walked through the dark until he reached the atrium, dark and empty, and spookily desolate despite the reminders of human life at every turn. Dom walked cautiously across the floor, noting that signs of the earlier fights still lingered. As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, the oddness of the Dollhouse washed over him, sending a small shudder down his back; for a place full of some many people, the place was as silent as a tomb.  
  
The door to the office with the chair was closed. Dom stayed on target, though his ears darted around to all points, expecting Alpha, who was no longer Kepler to try to get the drop on him at any second. The Dollhouse had more secrets than Area 51, and as Dom learned more, he could see cracks, even if he was sketchy on the details of just how this beast worked; he still managed to see the cracks, and those cracks were going to end up getting people killed.  
  
Apparently, DeWitt was keeping her end of the bargain, as far as Dom could see, which he couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing yet. Taking one last look around before he pushed the door open, he caught sight of a camera mounted at the opposite end of the hall. He dipped his head slightly at the camera, hoping the Boss Lady and her suits were watching, if Kepler hadn’t fully disabled all the cameras.  
  
Dom turned the knob and stepped inside.  
  
Nerd Boy was still sacked out on the couch, where he and Ballard had dropped him. The double doors leading to the chair were closed, but Dom could make out clear human sized shapes behind the frosted glass.  
  
As he crossed the room, not for the first time, Dom wished he still had the crowbar, better yet his shotgun. He’d like to see Alpha outthink the accuracy of either. Dom stopped shy of the sliding door, his eyes tracking the movements of bleary shapes behind the layer of glass; with the full expectation that Alpha was doing the same.  
  
“Come on in, Dominic,” Alpha crowed joyfully, and Dom wished he hadn’t been proven right.  
  
The doors rolled back smoothly under his hands, revealing Kepler, who was no longer jerky and spastic—cool, collected and standing full in control with a gun in his hand and Echo, now touchy feely like a newlywed, at his side.  
  
A calculated grin unfurled across his face, breaking up the cold stared aimed Dom’s way. “Now, shut the door; wouldn’t want you letting any flies in, now would we?” Even his voice had changed. Now, it carried new base and a confident backbone that made it all too clear that Kepler wasn’t standing in front of him.  
  
Dom reached behind him, grasped the hand grooves and rolled the doors shut, his eyes never leaving Alpha’s until the gun was lowered below the rim of the chair. Then, he looked to Echo, who seemed right as rain, though he wasn’t sure what the groupie impression was all about. He looked to Lance, who sat on the floor, knees drawn loosely up to his chest with one hand rubbing the back of his neck, while his eyes remained on Dom, suddenly curious.  
  
Dom spread his hands to show he was unarmed. Alpha gave him another jaunty smile in return. “I’m here now, so let’s talk,” Dom said.  
  
Alpha stroked Echo’s back, who leaned into the touch like a cat, making small purring sounds as his hand rolled over the thin cotton of her nightgown. “We’ll talk eventually, Dominic, but for now, we can get this party started by getting into the elevator.”  
  
The elevator at the back of the room was overshadowed by the looming bookshelves and flashing pieces of mounted wall tech. He hadn’t even noticed it until Alpha flipped open a covered panel and hit the call button.  
  
Echo registered Dom’s presence in the room. She looked from Dom to Alpha and returned to the latter’s side. “Baby,” she said in the same slow dripping accent that reminded Dom of rust. “Who’s that? He a friend of yours?”  
  
Alpha dropped a small kiss into her dark hair without breaking eye contact with Dom. “Naw, not really, Baby. He’s your Cousin Lance’s fella,” he said flicking his eyes to Lance, who still remained on the floor with his undivided attention on Dom.  
  
After a beat, which coincided with the arrival of the elevator, she nodded bubbly, “Oh, yeah, now I remember. Forgot how Lance liked ‘em all rough and beefy. Apologies--”  
  
“Dominic,” Alpha supplied and beckoned Dom forward with his gun. “Don’t forget to bring Lance.”  
  
As Alpha and Echo entered the elevator, Dom approached Lance, who remained seated. Without the inherent coolness or the confidence that Dom had come to associate as Brian O’Conner traits, Lance seemed as innocent as an overgrown puppy. Looking at Dom with those guileless crystal blue eyes, the comparison didn’t seem far off the mark, and Dom felt his stomach roil at the flash of memory that recalled the shower and the fleeting trace of _wrong_ that clouded the memory.  
  
“We go now, Dee?” Lance asked, still staring up at Dom.  
  
Dom nodded, “Yeah,” and his voice sounded rusty like he’d managed to swallow a boulder. He slid down to his knees in a low squat, setting them at equal footing. “You trust me O’Co—Lance?”  
  
Without hesitation, Lance nodded. “I trust you, Dee.”  
  
Lance reached out and Dom took his hands and guided him to his feet. He walked slightly ahead of Lance, shielding him partly from Alpha and they stepped inside the elevator.  
  
“Finally, Dominic,” Alpha drawled at his back. “For someone obsessed with going places fast, you sure do move slowly.”  
  
Echo giggled in Alpha’s arms. “Bobby, don’t be so mean. They haven’t seen each other in a while and I know you were just as giddy as a schoolgirl when you found me, so just cut ‘em some slack.”  
  
If Alpha was Bobby, then who was Echo? Obviously, she wasn’t the same girl, doll, whatever that he’d seen before going up to DeWitt’s office. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lance, rub his neck again, and Dom noticed the small wound at the base of his neck.  
  
Facing forward, he could see the warped reflection of Alpha and Echo getting down behind him and Lance. He took a step back, which didn’t disrupt them, then another. As he moved to take another backwards step, Dom felt the cold blunt tip of the glock press into the center of his back.  
  
“No getting any ideas now. I’m trying to keep this a happy party,” Alpha warned as he slipped over Dom’s shoulder to whisper.  
  
Keeping his eyes forward, Dom asked, as calmly as the situation permitted, “Am I going to get details or…are you making this up as you go along? Because I wanna know what’s waiting for us when the doors open.”  
  
The gun pressed deeper along the base of his spine. “Nothing, if they’re smart.” Alpha withdrew the gun suddenly and leaned back into the wall with his arm around Echo. “Crystal’s gonna take a second to change and grab some new threads for me and Lance, then we’ll go.”  
  
Once the doors opened, Alpha ushered them through a couple of twisting empty corridors until they reached what appeared to be a checkpoint in Dom’s estimation. An unmanned one, probably by DeWitt’s orders that Crystal slipped behind and dragged a docile Lance with her in her tornadic wake.  
  
The door behind the counter led into a grand closet that would make Narnia jealous. Alpha pulled the door to him, blocking Dom from getting a deeper view, and effectively cutting him off from Brian. “Make it quick, Baby. Gotta get outta here before the pigs fly the sty.”  
  
He rounded on Dom suddenly. Keeping just out of reach of a solid blow, he pointed to the plain door at the end of the hall. “That’s the exit. You’re gonna go through it and find a car.” Alpha delivered his order without an ounce of Bobby’s country inflections, just flat and direct. If Dom hadn’t seen him with his own eyes, he would swear that he was talking to a different person.  
  
He continued, pointing to the clock above the desk, he said, “You have ten minutes to meet us where Agent Ballard so dutifully parked his car in an attempt to blend in.”  
  
“If I’m late?” Dom asked. A driver couldn’t handle a track without knowing the blind spots, and he couldn’t handle Alpha without knowing what Alpha was truly capable of doing besides scaring everyone around here like the boogeyman. “What happens if I take eleven minutes instead of ten?”  
  
Alpha’s flat blue eyes crawled from the clock to the closet door back to Dom in an agonizing loop. The small-half grin that curled his lips suggested he knew Dom’s angle, and Dom pretended to be none the wiser. “You know what happens when you’re too slow. Are you really willing to risk,” he pointed to the door, “Lance’s safety or Echo’s? This is an opportunity Dominic; a once in a lifetime opportunity that I’m willing to share with you, if you’re willing to ante up just as high.”  
  
Getting a car wouldn’t be hard. Leaving Lance and Echo with Alpha was a risk that Dom really didn’t want to take, but would take if that was the only way to play Alpha’s game and end up with everyone unharmed.  
  
Though muffled by the door, Echo’s laugh and lower flutters of Lance’s voice wafted through, acting as a stopgap to their plans. It was a much needed reality check. “I’ll find something…subtle and meet you at the corner,” Dom agreed.  
  
Alpha clapped him on the shoulder and stepped back to lean on the door. “Just in case you are a little late, here’s an incentive for you: in ten minutes, Federal Agents will be swarming this place as if they heard al-Qaeda was in here making Keebler cookies with yellow cake uranium, so. Fact is you need to get to it, Speed Racer. And the clock starts….now.”  
  
Dom spared another glance at the door before taking off down the hall. He had ten minutes to do Alpha’s bidding or he’d be well and truly fucked with Lance and Echo right along with him. He slammed through the door and took off into the night.  


~*~*~*~

  
  
Seven minutes and forty-two seconds later, Dom rounded the corner of Flowers Street. He’d been successful at playing fetch by finding an earlier model Jeep, black, battered and as nondescript as they came.  
  
Jimmying the lock hadn’t been hard and he was thankful for the small favor that was not having to break the window to get inside. With no Lo-Jack or alarm on the jeep, he broke the steering column, crossed the battery cable and the solenoid wire to crank the engine and took off.  
  
As per Alpha’s instructions, they were waiting.  
  
They stood under the street light at the corner, bathed them in orange fluorescence; Echo—no, _Crystal_ clung to Alpha, who held her just as close. He’d ditched the pajamas for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, while she flittered about him in short-short denim hot pants, cowboy boots, a tank top and a plaid over-shirt. She looked like a back-up dancer in a country music video.  
  
With Alpha steering them to the car, Dom got his first look at Brian. The styling had to be all _Crystal’s_ idea; Brian was never one for fashion--always floating through Dom’s memory in baggy t-shirts, jeans and some variety of beat-up Chucks. The style he did possess was all schizophrenic California Boy, who didn’t quite know what he wanted to be—surfer, skater or a gangster. Somehow, Brian made it work.  
  
Now blanketed by the orange corona of the streetlight, Dom finally saw him as this different person. Suited up in crisp jeans, a white polo and with his hair actually styled, instead of the carefree curly mop of five years ago and far longer than the buzz cut from months prior, Lance looked like the poster boy for Mr. All-American White Bread from the heart of suburbia.  
  
Christ.  
  
“Perfect timing,” Alpha said as he slipped into the passenger seat. In the distance, sirens screamed, wailing growing louder as they came towards their location.  
  
He pulled away from the curve, leaving the Dollhouse looming behind them and the Feds rolling up to its door. As he merged into the night traffic, Dom looked back at Lance through the rearview mirror, who mostly seemed to watch him or answer Crystal’s questions when directed at him, though floundering at answering half the things she asked. Whenever his eyes met Dom’s, it was both comforting and disconcerting in equal measure, like a picture he’d seen a thousand times and suddenly realizing that there was a new image on its surface.  
  
Dom glanced at Alpha– _Bobby_ , who was soaking up all of Crystal’s gushing and seemingly endless stream of chatter about things she wanted to do now that she was free of _that_ place.  
  
Dom cut his eyes to Alpha and then straight ahead. “We going anywhere in particular or we just driving?” He asked.  
  
Alpha turned away from Crystal’s bubbly smile, and directed with an easy grin, “Take the 110. Our little party starts in San Pedro. Get off on Industrial Road 18.”  
  
“And then?”  
  
Rolling his head over his shoulders in some attempt to appear relaxed, Alpha sighed and closed his eyes for a long moment. “Gotta learn to be patient, Dominic, I don’t want you to spoil the fun.”Bobby turned around to talk to Crystal again, making the appropriate noises to Crystal about shopping. When he turned back around, a peaceful look descended over his features. “Just drive, Dominic, and we’ll get there eventually.”  
  
Dom could feel Lance’s gaze on the back of his neck. Like prickling ice, it stung every surface that it touched. Dom had stopped watching Lance in the rearview mirror. Found it hard to look at him when he looked a decade too young and uncannily like a wayward Abercrombie model. It all sent an aching blow to his gut, which was already sitting atop a clinching unease deep inside, in addition to the previous roiling. Now Dom felt even more nauseated for so many reasons; he could barely decipher them all.  
  
As he merged onto the 110, Alpha snapped on the radio and began to croon along to some yodeling country ballad. Dom tried to block him out by forcing his eyes to remain focused on the traffic and hot throb of his head, but he was still flying too fucking blind.  
  
At this point, all of Alpha’s little teasers had more or less grown legs, stood up around this entire thing to form the walls of a twisting and turning nightmare to become a maze. One that Dom couldn’t see his way out of-- not yet at least. The difference between a maze and trap were the walls. Busting through those walls made all the difference.  
  
Instinct demanded that he just barrel through Alpha’s little minefield like a fucking comet, but circumstance also demanded alternative action. Dom wasn’t the type to sit back and wait. For that matter, neither was the Brian that he knew. Though Brian seemed to possess infinitely more patience than Dom did, at least, on the surface that was.  
  
Through the mirror, Dom caught _Crystal_ once again rubbing her neck. Lance watched her and did the same after a few seconds.  
  
Dom cleared his throat, pointedly keeping his eyes on the road. “What’s with the neck thing? I see Lance and Echo--”Alpha growled, “Crystal,” Dom corrected, “can’t keep their hands off the back of their necks. What did you do?”  
  
Alpha cocked his head to the side before glancing out of the window, and offered Dom a smile so disingenuous that it practically dripped. “You know what they do to dogs at the pound?”  
  
Dom didn’t answer, getting the impression that the question was truly facetious.  
  
“They wrangle ‘em in. Clean ‘em up all nice and spiffy-like, so that they’ll get a home.”Then his voice shifted lower, darker, almost distant. Again, it was leaving Dom with the feeling that he was sitting beside someone who was not actually physically in the jeep.  
  
“Puppies are precocious little things and have a tendency to wander off. Or get into a ton of trouble.” He tsked. “So to keep stray hands from taking them or their legs carrying them into situations that they can’t handle, the vets grab them by the scruff of the neck and microchip ‘em. Lo-Jack ‘em, if you will, to keep them on the radar.”  
  
Puppies and the two in the backseat, as well as the entire house full of moony-eyed _dolls_ , were united by being tagged and bagged.  
  
 _Fascinating._  
  
The back of the neck was the ideal place to hide something where there happened to be something worth hiding. Tattoos. Tracks. Microchips apparently.  
  
“So, you did them a favor by pulling them out,” Dom guessed. “Didn’t know you were qualified to do that? Play doctor, that is.”  
  
Alpha, not Bobby, laughed. “Aw, Dominic, the things you don’t _know_ would astound you,” he continued to chuckle, airily. “Anyway, I couldn’t give DeWitt et al. a clear advantage. That would be loading the deck in their favor and we need _all_ the time we can get together. They’ll be alright…Scout’s Honor.” He saluted Dom with a short raised hand and looked the furthest thing from a real Scout.  
  
They didn’t speak much after that. Instead Dom concentrated on making the trip out to San Pedro as quick and safe as possible, despite his urge to just take his chances by ramming them into a guardrail. Following Alpha’s instructions, they were headed south, and south meant the port.  
  
He got off the 110 before the exit for the Port of LA, deciding to stick to surface streets since the address was only vaguely recalled by him. Alpha piped up here and there, giving his off-color observations and last second directions.  
  
Off the highway and down on the surface roads brought them face to face with the lonely outer band of L.A. proper. Close to the port, but still on the fringes, where the smell of industry, dust, gravel, iron and steel still hung in the air despite the cloud of salt that enveloped the area. The streetlights shined inconsistently; light falling on alternate blocks of broken and cracked pavement, and signs of life were limited to the scuttling feet of stray dogs and cats, and the over-burden shopping carts of the wandering homeless.  
  
Down here it was bleak and cold, despite the heat; light-years away from his life--bright, swirling and fast like kaleidoscopic spinners. Dom turned off the main drag onto a gravel strip that lay between a set of crippled wings forming a chain link fence. L.A. was full of so many lights. It wasn’t often that a place could be found that was completely dark.  
  
As they continued down the bumpy service road, the fossil of industrial stacks, some sort of processing plant, loomed ahead. A sign suspended by a stressed zip-tie hanging from one cracked and peeling corner, proclaimed welcome to the power station in distressed paint. This place didn’t pull punches at upping the creepy factor. The dark steel corpse of a power station looked like the perfect lair for a super-villain, serial killer or any other malevolent entity popular in horror movies.  
  
“You can stop here,” Alpha said as they approached the first structure that looked like a normal building. Swiveling in his seat, he leveled another perky smile at Crystal, pulling out all the stops to appear charming. “Crystal, Baby, why don’t you and Lance get out and stretch your legs.”  
  
Echo’s brown eyes were stretched comically wide as she surveyed their surroundings through the window. She didn’t seem the least bit sure about their final destination. “ _Baby_? You sure we’re in the right place?” She questioned nervously. “This place looks…”She couldn’t find the words to fully describe.  
  
 _Tell me about it, sister_ , Dom thought.  
  
Like a curtain dropping, Dom could read the shift of personality on Alpha’s face. Suddenly, blood filled his cheeks like a drop of oil to a small fire, and that sunny disposition evaporated into a twisted snarl. “Crystal,” He growled, his voice tight and accent dragging low like a fender scraping concrete. “Get.Out.Now.” He ordered.  
  
Her eyes darted to Dom, but looked away just as quickly, and she steeled herself before exiting the car. “Come on, Lance,” she dragged him out the backseat. He followed without a word, still holding Dom’s gaze through the rearview mirror until the door closed with a solid slam.  
  
Dom watched them walk away in the boundaries of his peripheral vision. Keeping an eye on Alpha was by far more important, given the small space and the suspiciously blank expression on Alpha’s face.  
  
“Now what?” Dom kept his eye on the gun that sat untouched on Alpha’s lap.  
  
With a small frown down-turning his lips, Alpha replied, “This.” Alpha lunged faster than Dom could counter and sank the syringe into his arm. Dom snatched the syringe out and stared it for a long second before he hurled himself across the bench seat to wrap his hands around Alpha’s throat. The narrow seat didn’t allow for much maneuvering, but Dom used his sheer size to press Alpha down, smacking his head against the window with satisfaction on the way.  
  
As Dom’s hands tightened around Alpha’s neck, the injection site began to burn and Alpha’s faced twisted into a vicious smile, only causing Dom’s hands to tighten. Using the side of his hand, Alpha struck Dom on the low cords of his neck: once, twice, three times until Dom had to back up. Then a flying foot caught him in the face, whipping his head back hard against the window, which snapped and crackled under the force of his head colliding with the glass.  
  
Whether it was from the impact of his head smacking the glass or the mystery cocktail shot up into his arm, Dom didn’t know, but his vision started zooming in and out like a camera on the fritz; tunneling and dilating, smothered in a halo of increasing darkness.  
  
Dom blinked, hard, rubbed his face and tried to clear his vision.  
  
His pulse, previously pitched to a thundering throb in his ears, slowed and stuttered into a quiet whoosh disappearing from his ears.  
  
He felt…disconnected.  
  
Alpha coughed and levered himself up from the seat. “Almost scared me for a second,” he said between coughs as he rubbed his throat. “That was enough Pentothal to bring down an elephant and you’re big, but not that big, so you won’t be much of a problem.”  
  
Dom tried to lift himself from the driver’s side door, but his body felt so heavy like the Charger sat on his limbs. His head fell back against the window, and the world closed in around him, while his limbs flopped like a puppet free of its strings. His vision tunneled, and grayed at the edges, leaving just the fading silhouettes of Lance and Echo in the bright spotlight of the headlights before his eyes, growing smaller and smaller as his heart beat slower and slower.  
  
Alpha patted his cheek cockily, snickering, “Nighty night, Big Guy.”  
  
And then it all faded to black.


	7. Seven, pt 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence, references to torture and general mindfuckery ahead.

“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!” Alpha heehawed inches from Dom’s face, jolting him from sleep to suffocating wakefulness.  
  
The world twisted and turned, vacillating from dark to light like strobe flickers in a seedy club. He felt dizzy—awfully disoriented like his brain had been shaken, stirred and dragged down a rough road at a buck-ten. Alpha swam in and out of his vision like a redheaded guppy; smiling too big and eyes too bright for a friendly presence. Almost as disconcerting as the sudden onset of an epileptic fit.  
  
Obviously, he wasn’t in the Jeep in anymore. As Dom’s eyes opened, lids mostly peeled back by Alpha’s obtrusive fingers invading his face. They weren’t in the Jeep anymore. It was impossible to tell how long he’d been out. Despite the distorted landscape, Dom couldn’t identify a window or if he had, there wasn’t any noticeable light streaming through it to indicate daylight.  
  
Florescent lights burned overhead, shining brightly like overeager stars scorching his retinas when he tilted his head back. Alpha watched him like an insect, following every turn and dip of his head. All of it adding to the vertigo Dom felt from the aftereffects of the drug.  
  
He lifted his arms, finding them to weigh a ton and unable to lift off the chair. His head rolled down and found white zip ties aligned in a neat series of rows along his wrist, keeping him firmly in place.  
  
Dom blinked back the fuzziness peppering his vision. When his head felt slightly less like a Brinks truck sat above his neck, he swiveled it slowly to take stock of where he was. He’d seen countless movies growing up where the super villains and psycho killers lived in seedy underground lairs, full of cobwebs and mysterious gadgetry. His last thought had been choking Kepler, no, Alpha, in the Jeep outside of the plant. Now he was inside a room with no windows and mountains of computer hardware crowding the place and the dentist chair from hell staring back at him.  
  
His head felt like it weighed as much as the Staples Center. It rolled about listlessly, cataloging his surroundings. He noticed every industrial fixture: pipes, tubing, concrete and grime that covered the place and added an echo to each sound that bounced off the walls.  
  
They were alone, which he could easily deduce after one complete swivel of his head. “Where are they?” He slurred, tongue heavy and dry like a cactus inside his mouth.  
  
Alpha backed up slowly, head bobbing up and down tracking Dom’s increasingly steadier eye movements. “You’re a man all about questions. I think it’s time for you to take a moment to listen.”  
  
He pointed to rollway door at the opposite end of the room. “Crystal’s in the other room with Lance by the way. I can tell by the way that that big shiny dome of yours is bouncing about, that you’re looking for the golden boy.” Cocking his head at the door, a cool expression settled over his face. And he appeared to pause and think, only to come to some decision after his momentary hesitation. “I gotta step out and make an errand in a little while. Got a hot date with my lady,” he snapped his fingers and shot finger pistols in front of Dom’s face. The next roll of Dom’s eyes was purely intentional. “Until then, I figured we’d just use the rest of the time to chat.”  
  
Dom sniffed indignantly, testing the strength of his restraints. This guy was completely unreal. Only a psycho would tie up a hostage and pretend that idle conversation was a mutual option between the two parties.  
  
Blame it on the pain in his head or his naturally short fuse, but Dom bit back then, snapping at Alpha.“Chat? Do I _look_ like Oprah?”  
  
He eyed the ties along his arms, and surged fruitlessly, despite intense effort, against his bonds. “I’d be more receptive to talking without the restraints,” Dom rumbled.  
  
Alpha shook his head. “Ha ha, _yeah_ ,” he chortled, “Not gonna happen,” he said suddenly sober. “Last thing I need is you going for my throat again. I bruise easily and you’re just a tad bit too heavy-handed for my delicate skin.” Above the collar of his t-shirt, bruises dotted the surface of his pale skin. And Dom felt a small measure of pleasure.  
  
Dom hissed through his teeth, shaking his head. Alpha was lucky bruises were the only things Dom laid on him. If he had the chance, he’d lay the Big Hurt on Alpha. A couple of hard pops to the face and see how he liked being tied to a chair.  
  
Speaking of chairs. “What the hell is that thing behind you? It looks like the set-up inside the lab.”  
  
“Good observation, _mein freund_. That little set-up as you called it isn’t simply for demonstration purposes. It might not be pretty, but it’s all good under the hood as you’d say. And I can’t wait to show you.”  
  
Hearing Ballard’s words echoing in his head, Dom felt a cold shiver slink down his spine. He’d rather not see any demonstrations of that thing. In fact, he’d be fine with not seeing how it worked.  
  
“Naw, I’m good. Thanks.” Dom said drily, keeping a wary eye on Frankenstein’s dentist chair across the room.  
  
“Oh, don’t be like that.” Alpha sat on a short rolling stool. He twisted, turned and spun about like a kid on a simple joyride. Then he stopped in front of Dom, threw up his hands as if cheering and managed to put Dom more on edge than he had with the gun. “You know, Dominic, I really like you. Like, _really_ like you. Just not _that way_ ,” he added hurriedly.  
  
“There’s just something about you. I don’t know. Gravitas, maybe?” Alpha speculated, fingers tapping away at the base of his chin. “You show up unexpectedly. Are harder to kill than a cockroach and you’ve survived a crash with a tractor trailer and you killed a drug goon with a car in a cool way,” He pronounced carefully, letting those actions roll around in his head until he smiled in agreement.  
  
The chair rolled away, spinning out into slow wide circles. The lull in the conversation was marked by Alpha staring off into space at some distant moment in time that was thankfully not Dom. “I favor knives when I want to get rid of people. A little slice and dice always makes for a good time. I find there’s more artistry in knife work. But a car--” he tilted his head in a considerate fashion, “I guess it holds a certain appeal. Very creative.”  
  
One of Dom’s eyebrows flicked up, none too amused. “Glad you think so.”  
  
“Most people don’t fair too well when in a situation like this.” Alpha mused with small laugh. “Especially with me. But you, like I said, I like you. I figure I’ll stick with plan A and just talk, and see how it goes from there.”  
  
Not that Dom had any other options at the time. He was literally a captive audience. “I’m all ears. Just make it a good one, cuz I’m still drowsy. Could slip off to sleep at any second.”  
  
Alpha nodded appreciatively, ignoring the sarcasm in favor of getting the opportunity to wax eloquently. “I’ll try to keep that in mind, but I sincerely doubt you’ll fall asleep during this one. Because-” he clapped and sprang to his feet and pointed to the chair “this is Lance’s, I mean, Lewis’ story.”  
  
He waved his hand about broadly. “I still remember the day Lewis came in for intake. He looked about the same as he does now--still freakishly handsome. But thinner. Pale like the underside of a stone and just as empty.”  
  
He twirled listlessly on the stool, gaze trailing over the ceiling as if his memories were unfolding above him like a constellation. “Until that day, I’d never seen anyone who was so empty who wasn’t a doll. Then, they wiped him.” He paused dramatically. “After the wipe, we’re all blank slates. Just dolls to be taken care of and reassembled for engagements to look like something truly human. But him? Even empty like the rest of us, _Lance_ was still hollow.”  
  
Alpha constructed the shape of a man with his fingers with such intricacy that Dom would almost see a tangible figure. Then, he thrust his finger into the center, where the chest would be, and destroyed the illusion just as quickly like a bubble bursting.  
  
He continued. “I think the pretty façade fooled them all. Hell, it even fooled _me_ for a minute before I knew better. If you looked long enough, not that _they did_ , you could easily see beyond the _so pretty_ shell and see just how brittle it actually was. But Lance would smile at you then and any thoughts about looking deeper…” he wiggled his fingers silently and turned his eyes on Dom. “That smile made you believe that he was just a pretty little sheep like the rest of them.” Alpha reflected, showing more genuine emotion than Dom had seen since meeting him. Though it could be a ploy, but instinct said there was no pretending at this. There was no faking this level of genuine emotion.  
  
“Then he met _you_ ,” Alpha smiled, “and world just about exploded!”  
  
“I’ve been getting that a lot lately,” Dom replied. “I guess I have—what did you call it? Gravitas in spades.” Playing it stupid made it easier to play possum. Not that he wasn’t fascinated by the story, because he was.  
  
DeWitt and Hobbs told him to play Alpha’s game. Funny how, the game had more truth to it than he managed to pry from anyone else. It made it easy to listen, and thus far, Alpha hadn’t thrown a lot of bullshit his way like the rest of them had. And what he was saying didn’t actually feel like lies either. So, the best course of action was to listen to Alpha as he spoke, and Dom would be a liar if he pretended that he wasn’t interested in knowing more. Actually knowing how Lewis became Lance who became Brian.  
  
Alpha rolled up beside the chair and gazed at it longingly. Like it was some valued treasure that he missed so dearly. He stroked the armrest with silent affection. His adoration of the chair lasted so long that Dom had to bite back the urge to ask him if he needed some alone time, a bit of privacy with it before things got too hot and heavy.  
  
“Lance had been on so many engagements. Between you and me,” he stage-whispered dramatically, “he _really_ got around.” Dom narrowed his eyes; glare kicked up to one hundred, and dug his fingers into the armrest. That joke fell flat, just reminding him of how gray his situation with Brian actually was.  
  
That grayness settled hard in Dom’s as of yet unsettled stomach.  
  
“When Lance was imprinted with Brian O’Conner, the world exploded. Okay, it didn’t, but, dammit, if he didn’t almost bring the house down. And that makes him my kind of guy,” Alpha said, smarmily.  
  
No one could prepare for a situation like this. There were no Hallmark cards or rules of decorum for the moment _you find out your friend turned possible soulmate is a computer fabrication_. Dom really wished there was. Truthfully, he wished that this was actually a bad dream, induced by bad processed cheese and a severe concussion. But easy wasn’t for him, so this moment—all of it was definitely real.  
  
Only one question he could ask other than why. “Who hired him?”  
  
Shrugging, leisurely, Alpha replied, “Some young hack that came from more money than God who wanted to make a name for himself as a cop, but that’s not important. What _is_ important is that once Brian O’Conner got inside that empty head, he wouldn’t let go. Just filled in all that empty space and settled in like concrete. And boy, have they been chipping away at it ever since.”  
  
Alpha smiled fondly. “Until me, there’d never been an active or an imprint so… _volatile_.” That was the last word Dom would ever associate with Brian. Brian was coolness personified. All Zen and laidback like it was an Olympic sport. Chill was Brian’s default setting, while volatile was Dom’s.  
  
“Even after wipe after wipe, Lance remembered you—vaguely, I mean. Drew pictures of black and orange rainbows competing until they blurred off the page. There was also that nifty drawing of the big green apple being roasted by flames.” He looked at Dom coyly and pumped his fist like they were buds just shooting the shit and the rousing climax to the story was right on the edge of his fingertips. “I’m sure there’s an interesting story behind that one.”  
  
“A real classic.”  
  
“Oh,” crowed Alpha, slapping his knee. “The architect is supposed to make sure that the actives can’t override the master commands or behave in a way that conflicts with the mission, but Brian slipped under the radar. How did no one realize that a personality with police officer training, criminal instincts and a drifter’s spirit would lead to a decisively, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad situation?” He whispered furiously, giving the impression that this was the world’s greatest mystery.  
  
He shook his head while making small amused inarticulate sounds. Alpha rolled close to Dom and positioned his chair parallel, giving the impression that they were once again old friends rather than captor and captive. “As soon as he let you go, which he wasn’t supposed to do anyway, he took off. He accessed all of that embedded knowledge and skill and ended up clear across the country. I’m sure DeWitt almost had a dignified coronary when she realized I was back. Though I pretty sure she did have one when Brian took off.”  
  
Sighing, Alpha paused, ruminating on the personality that was Brian O’Conner. He looked…wistful? Amused? Proud? Dom finally settled on proud, because he grew soft-eyed with his signature cheery smile still in place.  
  
“He always ended up ahead of them. No one got close enough to use the neural lock and key on him, so he just kept running. He managed to live a life, had friends, found a best friend to help him tear up the town and even took out a major drug kingpin. That’s when they sent Hobbs in after him and Hobbs dragged him back, not kicking and screaming though. After that, we all had to have upgraded biolink chips with GPS locator, because they couldn’t afford another active to go rogue.”  
  
If he was that much trouble, why not get rid of him? Hadn’t DeWitt threatened Ballard and him with the Attic? The most terrifying nickname for lockdown that he’d ever heard. “I’m surprised they didn’t put him in the Attic.”  
  
Surprise lit Alpha’s face. “You know about the Attic, huh? That big ball of nightmares locked up into cold storage…DeWitt figured it wasn’t Lance’s fault that the imprint was defective, so they decided to shelve the Brian O’Conner personality and chock the whole thing up to bad administrative oversight.”  
  
Dom didn’t agree with any of this, but a small part of him was relieved that DeWitt hadn’t locked Brian away. Despite knowing the real facts, Dom was content to hold onto his belief in the flesh and blood Brian O’Conner rather than the computer download. Either way, he wouldn’t want _Brian_ to be boxed up.  
  
Alpha clapped him on the shoulder, an all too friendly gesture for the situation, and continued. “That was the case until some other young blood Fed decided to prove his salt by bringing down Braga the rich asshole way by having someone else do the heavy lifting for him. That’s how Brian got reactivated. Your ex-squeeze finding him was just coincidental.”  
  
Dom couldn’t dwell on any of this, not too deeply at least. If Dom thought about it all, really thought about it, all the coincidences, artificial implants and shadowy technology capable of changing the very fiber of a person, then he’d go crazy. Snap like a twig and just lose his sanity. He might even question why he was even here, if none of this, if Brian, in fact, wasn’t real.  
  
“But you two just keep coming back together. Like ions or bad sequels, you always pop up at the same time, and just shake everything up. You’re the bug in the system, the catalyst. A giant free radical that just messes everything up in such spectacular fashion—I’m more of a subtle kind of guy.”Alpha sighed. “The two of you have made for interesting reading, I’ll admit.”  
  
Dom shrugged. “I’d love to take a crack at it myself.” Apparently, everyone had a file on him.  
  
Alpha strode across the room to the desk loaded with computer junk behind the chair. He rifled through the stack of clutter to come out with a thick brown folder. By the time this was all over, Dom never wanted to see another folder or dossier again. “This has it all, from start to car carnage finish.”  
  
He pulled out thin sheets bursting with color. Each page was laden with unrecognizable patterns that Dom found just a bit nauseating while still under the influence of the sedative.  
  
Alpha put the sheets in Dom’s direct line of sight. “You two get together, and… boy, you make fireworks. I mean that literally,” he said as he pulled out a series of colorful transparencies. “I liberated these from our trusty mad scientist friend.”  
  
He placed the scans about an inch or two shy of Dom’s nose. The proximity screwed with Dom’s eyes, making him go cross-eyed as he tried to disentangle the perceived rainbow Rorschach inkblot butterflies from the actual brain scans before him.  
  
Alpha circled his finger over the first scan. “See, this is Lance. All pretty colors, but not too bright, you know? Just _another_ empty-headed blond.” Alpha drawled in his rusty western twang.  
  
A second scan replaced the first at the tip of Dom’s nose. “Now this is Brian O’Conner; all bright colors and super pretty like a mosaic on Ecstasy.”  
  
His fingers tapped the bright pools of yellow and pink that mined through the hemispheres and sectors of the brain. “Those are the colors of attraction. Pretty aren’t they? And these--” he said as he slid the last scan into view, “are the colors of love. Can you guess which are Lance’s brain when he’s with you?” He drawled sappily.  
  
Dom nudged his head in the direction of the kaleidoscopic scans. “Those apparently.”  
  
“Correct, my burly bald friend. This display full of mental Christmas lights is all about you, Buddy. Cuz the boys in the white coats are good, but they’re not _that_ good. That’s all Mother Nature.”  
  
Dom found it hard to find anything like Mother Nature in this grand ol’ Frankenstein affair. Normally, Dom was all for taking risk. Speed, he could understand with logic, physics and the power of a good ride. Sociopaths were apparently, thinking back to his dealings with Johnny and Lance Tran, were like drifting over ice, slippery as hell and infinitely dangerous.  
  
Suddenly, the scans were tossed in the air, floating up like overly large pieces of confetti. “This is the time you should be thanking me!” Alpha crooned, veins standing out in stark relief in his neck as blood flooded his cheeks, bringing the contrast between his carrot-top and pale skin.  
  
He figured feeding the crazy would be better than arguing. DeWitt said there was no point in trying to outsmart an evil genius psycho, and definitely not while Lance was at the mercy of downloaded Echo in the next room. “Yeah, thanks a lot,” Dom said with minimal sincerity.  
  
Alpha preened like a satisfied cat. He waved Dom’s thanks off with enough false humility to propel him to the moon. “Before the wheels start turning too fast in that oyster shell of head, I’ll be magnanimous and just tell you what you’re already thinking. Thinking loudly that it is!” He clasped his ears as though they were being overwhelmed by a loud noise. “Turn it down will ya,” he chuckled at another one of his ill-received jokes.  
  
Alpha should stick to his job of being professionally crazy, because comedy was not his forte. “What am I thinking then? Since you know everything, I’m just curious.”  
  
Bouncing around the room, Alpha curled his fingers about his temple like he was channeling a swami. The grandstanding was truly sick and Dom had to grin and bear it. “I’m sure.you.are.”  
  
Alpha threw himself down in the chair and kicked his legs up while folding his arms behind his head like he was lounging on the Redneck Riviera. “It’s chemistry really—synthesis. Where putting two chemicals together yields one bigger and better product. That’s you two, that product, that Big Bang, because from the looks of things every time you and Brian see each other, somethin’ always goes boom.”  
  
He mimed an explosion with his hands, and then threw his head back in raucous laughter. The sound bounced off the walls and muffled any sounds coming from the next room, and Dom really wished that Alpha would just get to the point.  
  
“Brian is attracted to you because you have it all. Family. Friends. Loyalty. All things that someone like Lewis, the real Brian, would crave more than air.”  
  
Shaking his head, Dom tried to sort through how Lewis was involved when his personality was stored on the storage unit on the table in the corner. Lance and Echo as dolls were supposed to be a black Model T, no thrills, no frills, just sturdy and the most basic of basic tools. “How’s that even possible?”  
  
Rolling his eyes, Alpha tapped his temples again and fluttered his lashes. The theatrics were grating Dom’s nerves. The fact that he couldn’t do anything about it made him feel more aggravated. “ _Whatever we plant in our **subconscious** mind and nourish with repetition and emotion will one day become a reality_.” Alpha said in a fluid, distracted tone. Like this was a quote he’d recited so often it might as well have been seared into his eyelids.  
  
Alpha sighed, “The subconscious mind is a powerful apparatus. It’s like a...a…garage,” he concluded with a snap of his fingers. As if saying _even you’d understand that_. “Just because everything’s boxed up, doesn’t mean that the grease spots or chipped paint are gone. Just like the mind, Dominic.” After a deep exhale, he repeated, “Just like the mind.”  
  
From the next room, Echo’s sharp giggles slipped through the cracks between the door and the wall. Dom worried about Lance, having not heard a sound from him since the door closed. Then he heard it, a short roll of raspy laughter. And Dom was satisfied.  
  
Alpha followed his gaze and Dom steeled himself for the next go-round. “You’re the white—scratch that, dark knight that Lewis needed when he couldn’t rescue himself. Even though Lewis has left the building, his subconscious instincts are still intact. And you managed to hit every button for him.” He concluded with a salacious wink. “I can see why if you’re into the beefy badass sort.”  
  
Alpha took a leaping hop from his seat in the rickety chair. He swaggered over to the low table against the back wall; his feet crisscrossing as he danced up to the table. The storage unit was his target. He picked up the metallic box and flipped it over with as much carelessness as one would toss a football. Dom’s heart thumped harder in chest than the moments leading up to his head to head with the semi.  
  
“But it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” Meaning the storage unit. Dom said nothing and continued to be a passive viewer. “This little vacation they offer is supposed to help the people that sign-up for it. But sometimes, not even years away can help change some things. You know bone-deep experiences. And coming from someone who has several personalities that are certified as sociopaths, you can take my words as the genuine article: if you get on a sociopath’s radar, then things won’t get better--they’ll get worse.”  
  
Okay, now, things were taking a turn for the freakishly interesting. Whether Brian O’Conner or not, it seemed the driver of that body always ran afoul of the wrong people.  
  
The box waved in front of Dom’s eyes as Alpha stroked its cool black surface. “Surviving a sociopath has nothing to do with luck. It has everything to do with who’s in charge and what they want to do and why.”  
  
As he flipped the box between his palms, Alpha reiterated how little he cared for the contents in his hands. “Poor Lewis, his life was over the day he met Rusty Nail.” He scoffed then muttering to himself about implausible and stupid names. Dom could have easily pointed out that Alpha wasn’t much better as a moniker either.  
  
“ --and the days that followed, you know that ones that everyone said he should’ve been grateful for because he was alive and all, he looked to with fear. And no extended mental siesta is going to change the facts. The most important one Lewis learned before he signed himself over.”  
  
The storage unit was held up for a closer inspection. Yet, as Dom watched Alpha hold the little black box, smaller than a carburetor, he marveled at the seemly innocuous piece of tech. How could something so small change a person in the most profound way. “Lewis knows that he’s still alive, because Rusty Nail hasn’t decided to kill him yet, so he knows as long as he remains Lewis he’ll have to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life. But,” Alpha tossed the box into the air, barely managing to catch it on the way down, “if he’d been successful in ending it all, then he wouldn’t have to worry about any of it.”  
  
Alpha grasped the storage disk between his palms and held it firmly. His gaze focused in on the box with such intensity that it would appear that he was actually staring eye to eye with Lewis, rather than the shell containing him. “There’s a part of me that wants to see the whole thing go down.” The distance in his voice clued Dom in to the fact that Alpha had veered slightly from his original point. “Just watch it burn, while the other half of me is reluctant to mess a thing up that actually helps. The Dollhouse is helping Lewis, you know, and I’m cruel, but I’m not _that_ cruel.” He remarked dreamily.  
  
He returned to the chair beside Dom and sat down gingerly. “Wanna hear a joke?”  
  
Did he really have a choice in the matter? Dom knew he didn’t, so he said, “Sure,” and prepared himself for another mindfuck.  
  
“What makes a man walk away from his mind?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Dom shrugged. “Bad dreams. You tell me.”  
  
“A man can’t walk away from his mind, Silly. The mind walks away from him. It doesn’t matter what the man looks like or does, because he’s just the shell and the mind is the control. The mind is the man and it can do whatever the hell it wants.”  
  
Dom canted his head to look at Alpha. The punchline hadn’t come. Instead, he’d gotten a weird blend of psychology and philosophy thrown his way. “That’s not a good joke.”  
  
“It is so. The joke is: what makes a man walk away from his mind is nothing. That’s the punchline. A man _can’t_ walk away from his mind; the mind walks away from the man.” He tapped the disk in annoyance. “I’ll put it into context for you: Lewis Thomas was a dead man the moment he crossed paths with Rusty Nail, so he vacated his physical premises. All tan six-feet of it. Now, Brian O’Conner can live to fight another day if he learns to drive a little less recklessly, because he moved in like a hermit crab or a cat lady. ”  
  
Dom had listened, had experienced mental whiplash and figured he wasn’t crazy yet, despite feeling like he was caught in an endless fishtail cycle. Playing a mental shell game, he was torn between Lewis, Lance and Brian. But he always came back to Brian, despite evidence that he shouldn’t.  
  
Brian was the ghost to Lewis’ machine. How could that be when Brian was the only one that seemed real? Reminded him about that sci-fi show were the machines looked like people and tried to wipe out the human race. Was that the next step, he wondered? Wouldn’t be that far off the mark.  
  
This was his new reality. A sci-fi universe where people were photocopied, xeroxed and erased like pieces of paper. Where authenticity was becoming obsolete and knowing what was real was a matter of interpretation. In his whole life, he had never doubted himself or what he knew.  
  
Not like this.  
  
Never before this.  
  
That had been his blessing, such unshakeable assuredness in his world. He was a gear head with big dreams. Now he questioned everything and the sensation was dizzying and scary as hell like being trapped on a Tilt-O-Whirl that he couldn’t get off of.  
  
Dom sat up straight in the chair. Those early blows had settled in deep, sending shooting aches to all the places that he didn’t need feeling hurt after sitting for so long. “Where do we go from here? You didn’t tell me all of that outta the goodness of your heart. You gotta have an angle. Cuz _everyone_ has an angle. You already said you don’t do subtle, and I’m just not up to speed for solving any puzzles right now.”  
  
In the time that had passed during Dom’s mental freakout, Alpha had returned to his desk, dropping the storage disk there and exchanging it for a stack of papers. Alpha tossed the papers in the air and let them cascade like rain to the dirty floor. He whirled around, suddenly hyper and manically ecstatic. “That’s why I like you-- you listen.” He skipped behind the chair and caressed the headrest. “Eventually, they’re going to find him out and stuff him in the Attic, and I think that would be an inexcusable waste. He’s clearly evolved. Not as much as myself, but who is?”  
  
He leaped over the arm of the chair. Alpha kicked his feet out and stretched out with the carefree ease. “This is your lucky day, Dominic. I’m feeling generous like Santa Claus minus the morbid obesity, the red suit and the deer obsession. I’d love to see how things play out, and I have to admit that I am _curious_ about what’ll happen if you and Brian get to race off into the sunset. So I’ve already done you a favor and you don’t even know it.”  
  
“Care to fill in the blanks? You got me on the edge of my seat here,” Dom said, deadpan.  
  
Alpha hopped out of the chair, venturing over to the computer console again. He showed off two pieces of hardware that looked eerily like two old hard drives Jessie had around the garage. “These little ditties have all the power. This one--” the one drive on his left, “is Lewis Thomas. The original owner of that body, and this--” the second drive, “is Brian O’Conner, your eternal BFF.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Only one of them gets to stay. The other gets booted off the island and smashed into a million pieces like the other imprints left behind. There can only be one!” He shrieked and Dom jumped slightly in response. Not getting the reaction out of that that he’d expected caused Alpha to pout. “No, not a Highlander fan?”  
  
Dom shook his head.  
  
“Well, that’s a semi-acceptable flaw. Anyway, I think you know who’s going to win this race.”  
  
Dom began to strain again, doing his best to twist out of the ties. “You can’t do this. As crazy as all of this is, I have to admit that that body belongs to Lewis.” And was that the ultimately painfully bitter truth.  
  
At first he smirked, then Alpha doubled over in laughter, finding Dom’s words utterly hilarious. “Uh, yeah, I can. I can do anything I want. I thought you’d been paying attention. Lewis is a dead man walking. A legit headcase that will probably jump off the Golden Gate Bridge if left to his own devices, whereas Brian would appreciate the life he’s given, and as would you. And I guess I have to admit this is also about you.”  
  
Dom reared back. These people had interfered with his life. Not the other way around. “Me? How the hell is any of this about me? I never heard of the Dollhouse before I got that note. Probably would’ve never found it without Ballard either. This isn’t about me; it’s about Brian.”  
  
The drives dangled from the ends of Alpha’s fingers, swaying gently in the air. “ _He_ isn’t real. Lewis isn’t real. After all the trauma he went through, he would never be real again. He was the broken one and trying to bring him back would be criminal. After all, don’t you say _there’s no fixing broken toys_?” Alpha gesticulated wildly, swinging his arms out to emphasize each and every word. He took a breath, calming himself by tamping down his overzealous enthusiasm.  
  
Dom worried about the drives as Alpha’s mood fluctuated. Alpha circling his fingers tightly around the handles did little to relieve his burgeoning worries. Alpha continued, “He wanted freedom--to be someone else was the only thing that mattered. Even without the memories Lewis would know something had happened to him. The nightmares would be everywhere at night, during the day. His past would follow him like a dark cloud. So I’m here to give him the only thing he ever wanted—freedom. Can’t fault me for that, can you?”  
  
Honestly, he couldn’t. Finding Brian and freeing him had been the reason Dom was here. But was he willing to sacrifice someone else—Lewis to do it?  
  
“That chair is a powerful weapon. You could be anybody.” Alpha caressed the cracked leather like a loving pet. “A few seconds in the chair is all it takes to become someone else. Lance could be Johnny or Joey or Lewis or Brian or … _Letty_ if given the right imprint.”  
  
If Alpha had wanted a reaction, he surely got what he wanted when Dom’s head snapped up. In response to Dom’s horrified expression, Alpha said, “Not that she’s in here. I’m just saying that it’s possible. Wouldn’t you like that though. Have her back.”  
  
Dom said, “No,” without hesitation, completely firm and resolute.  
  
Alpha offered him an indulgent smile. “This just bears repeating: I like you. I don’t get to say that often, if, well, um, ever. You actually care about Lance, I mean Brian, rather than just use him like the rest, so it’s fair that I give you the head’s up, because sooner rather than later, this is all going to go belly up.”  
  
Yeah, it was only a matter of time before someone else asked the right questions and put the pieces together like Ballard. “What you do you mean? The imprinting?"  
  
Alpha stared back at Dom, his face blank, void of any recognizable sign of what he was thinking. “It wouldn’t be much of a surprise if I told you now. It’s just safe to say that Lance--Brian, will be better off if he’s with you, because you seem to have a fascinating ability to adapt and survive. That will be a valuable asset pretty soon. Lewis doesn’t deserve to see it, probably wouldn’t survive it anyway, so why waste a resource.”  
  
Alpha crossed the room to stand beside Dom’s chair. He patted Dom’s shoulder companionably and looked off towards the closed door. They remained silent far longer than Dom was comfortable with in light of the hand that continued to pat his shoulder inattentively. Dom’s muscles were tense under the unwelcomed hand. Granted, he was generally a tactile person, Dom didn’t particularly cotton to random strangers, sociopathic strangers at that, all but stroking him like he was good luck charm.  
  
“You’ve been so good about this,” Alpha finally said, eyes still on the door. “I think you’ve earned yourself an award, O’Pal of Mine.”  
  
Dom tilted his head slightly to watch Alpha. “Goodie. I hope it’s untying the ropes, cuz that would be a reward I’m looking forward to.”  
  
Alpha dropped two last pats to the shoulder before pushing off the wall energetically. “Can’t say that’s a part of the surprise, but I’ll do you one better. How about I give you a couple of minutes with Lance?” Alpha waved his hands about as he stood like the ring master he was showing himself to be. “I’m not being all that selfless here. I’m aching…Seriously, aching for some time with my lady. Can’t promise that the conversation will be scintillating, because you don’t strike me as the Chatty Cathy type, but you can have a moment to speak knuckle-dragger or what not.”  
  
 _Dick._ The tide of bile rose in Dom’s throat, burning the back of his mouth, causing his eyes to water suddenly, and the aftereffects of the tranq had no part in that reaction. Because Alpha was all the way around shithouse rat crazy.  
  
“You just sit there nice and tight and not worry your bald head and I’ll have Lance out here in a jiffy. Now--” he said with the rusty drawl back in place, pouring over his tongue like old motor oil, “don’t get any ideas. This is a privilege, one that will someday prove that I started out as a benevolent god.”  
  
Dom had never been so relieved than the moment when Alpha slipped behind the big metal door and rolled it shut. He had to get the fuck out of this place.  
  
Dom had known crazies and killers. Knew of a few people, usually cousins of cousins of some acquaintance more or less, who had a screw or two loose. Then in the pen, he’d met hardcore thugs, killers, psychos, who just caused destruction and pain for the hell of it. Some of them were probably riding the same crazy train; others just had that look, the one in the eyes that was instinctually inhuman. Lance Tran hadn’t quite been on that level yet, but he had potential. But Alpha had so many screws loose, Dom was amazed he didn’t trip over them.  
  
Bottom line: he had to get out of here. Get free, find Lance and Echo and just jet.


	8. Seven, pt 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence, torture, mindfuckery, and references to bad science ahead.

He strained against the restraints with all his strength, but found next to no give in the bindings. Alpha knew better than to give him the opportunity to leave. As far as Dom could see, the issue of opportunity would rest solely on him making it.  
  
Just then, the door squealed as the rusted wheels rolled back on the corroded track. This basement had Lock Jaw written all over just about everything inside of it. Not the best place to pick as a secret lair. Then again, if Alpha intended to keep his hostages and never let them go, then this place, with all its psycho-infused charm, would do the trick.  
  
Popping through the door like a Jack-in-the-box, Alpha emerged. “Look who I have!” He grabbed Lance by the arm and shoved him inside the room. Lance stumbled a few feet, making Dom think about a pony on fresh legs with Lance’s wobbly movements. He righted himself eventually and began to observe the room with wide-eyed fascination.  
  
“Don’t let me regret this, Toretto.” Alpha warned from the door. “And Lance, be your best, Buddy.”  
  
Lance nodded puppy dog slow and turned to watch Alpha slide the door shut. With his back to Dom, Lance continued to look at the door, gradually tapering off as the rest of the room became more interesting once again. “I will be my best,” Lance stated flatly in a voice that sounded like a distortion of Brian’s.  
  
When Dom was a kid, his dad had taken him and Vince fishing down at Goleta Pier as a reward for the occasional set of good grades. Back then he’d learned a valuable lesson that he still used to this day: never go after the catch, let them come to you. This was how Dom lived, be it with cars, girls, fish or Brian. Let them come to him. So, he remained quiet as Lance continued his look about until his eyes landed on Dom.  
  
Lance dropped his gaze to Dom and smiled. “Hello, it’s you again. I am happy to see you.”  
  
That smile as long as it was on that face, no matter what personality attached to it, would always be magnetic. “Hey yourself.” Dom smiled in return.  
  
With a smile like the one being shown to Dom, Lance easily appeared years younger, so freaking young and damn sweet that when that sick feeling returned to Dom’s stomach, he was totally fine with it settling hard. Gradually, that smile lessened, turning off the natural light that had brightened Lance’s face, only to become a confused frown. “You need help.” Said Lance with a tilt of his head.  
  
Dom nodded to the ties. “Yeah, I need you to cut me loose.”  
  
Lance seemed to weigh the idea, perceptibly turning his head to the side as if the thoughts were literally rolling around in his head. “Cut? I don’t know how to cut.” Of course. “Not allowed to cut,” he said with a genuine look of sadness. Lance dropped his eyes down to the sneakers on his feet that were still so perfect that they’d be easily display ready. “But--” he began drawing his eyes back to Dom timidly, “I can be my best if you show me how.”  
  
That was his Brian. Empty-headed or not, Brian never let a challenge rest without trying it first. He would have laughed at the apparent display of ditziness, thinking of all the times he or Vince or Mia had teased Brian about his hair color, had it not been for Lance’s penetrating thousand watt spare—genuine yet vacate, and the overwhelming sadness of the situation.  
  
Damn, that bile. His eyes prickled again, drawing misty at the corners, and he tightened his jaw, because he wouldn’t do that. Not here. Not now.  
  
Freedom was the plan. Had always been the plan. He’d get free. Do something to Alpha, clean his clock hard enough to get him operating on one frequency rather than several crazy ones, and grab Echo and Lance and get Brian fixed.  
  
Dom pulled his wrists against the bindings. “I need you to find something sharp. Scissors. A knife. A pair of pliers. Anything. We gotta get the hell out of here.”  
  
Wrong choice of words, he’d confused Lance again, because that little frown that started with a crinkle between the eyes was back. “What is…hell?” Lance gazed around the room by following in a circuitous track. His half-circles indicating that he was trying to solve the mystery of this word that he didn’t understand. Not finding a concrete answer, he turned to Dom, “Is this…hell?”  
  
Close enough, Dom thought. He shook his head, “No, just a bad place.” He nudged his head in the direction of the cluttered computer desk. “Find something sharp like this,” he mimed a pair of scissors with two fingers and Lance nodded slowly, seeming to understand.  
  
“I will be my best for, Dee. Always my best for Dee.”It was a painfully sweet declaration.  
  
He turned away to the desk full of its mountains of screens, wires and computer parts. Alpha probably had all his bases covered. It didn’t seem like one would go through all the trouble to disguise himself, break into a secure facility and take hostages, just to leave out a handy pair of scissors to allow his hostages’ escape.  
  
Lance’s hands wove through the detritus purposefully. Dom watched, still holding onto the hope that he would find something. His heart beat loudly in his ears and he continued to strain and pull until red marks on his skin cut deeper, drawing out a harsh sting and bringing little rivulets of blood to the surface. “Ouch. Hurt.” Lance jerked his finger back, bringing it to his face.  
  
He turned to show Dom his bleeding finger. “Sharp,” he said in a small voice.  
  
“Sorry. You okay?” Lance nodded. “What cut you? Show me the sharp thing.”  
  
Sadness and hurt warred on Lance’s face as he sucked his finger. With all the innocence and the finger sucking, Dom no longer felt sick to his stomach, just angry. People paid for _this_. To dress these people—dolls up into living fantasies without giving a damn about lay beneath. But how was he any different? He was chasing after a shadow. Everyone told him so. The difference, he figured, came from the fact that despite all the tech and procedures to erase Brian’s memories, Lance still remembered Dom and knew him.  
  
Lance turned back to the table and back again, lifting a pair of fine tipped pliers.  
  
“That’s good. You’re doing awesome. Bring those over here.”  
  
Lance smiled at the confirmation that he was at his best at the moment. He took the pliers to Dom, who wriggled his arms as far from the bands as he could. He encouraged Lance’s tentative movements. Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead as Lance slowly slipped the mouth of the pliers between the first bands.  
  
“Cut,” he ordered curtly and Lance snipped the first band.  
  
That bloom of hope that had felt more distant than not over the past few days was finally attainable. He listened up for Alpha’s returning, again hoping that Echo-- _Crystal_ , served as a good distraction long enough for Lance to finish. Eight Industrial zip ties fixed his arm to the chair.  
  
With the first three bands cut, Dom got full mobility of his right wrist. Even though he’d felt the pain, the bands had managed to hide the red irritated flesh on the top side of his wrist. His skin was covered in welted abrasions, all barely open and sluggishly leaking. They looked far worse than he expected.  
  
As Lance slipped the pliers into place to remove the next band, he stopped suddenly, dropping the pliers and grabbing for his ears. He doubled over before Dom’s feet. Dom heard it then, a high pitch tone muffled by the insulation of the walls.  
  
Panicked, Dom fought the restraints to get to Lance. “What’s wrong?” He yelled, to no coherent response from Lance. Just inarticulate moans as he tried to plug his ears to keep out the high frequency sound.  
  
Dom’s head snapped up as the door rolled back. Alpha stepped inside, shaking his head and tsking with a grimace on his face. The flat dead stare was back aimed squarely at Dom and Lance, and Alpha glared disapprovingly.  
  
He held up a device, small and black like one of those old fashioned hand radios, his finger on a center button. Scowling at the sight of Dom’s partially free arm, he sarcastically lamented, “Busy bees, indeed. Seems like I wasn’t the only one being naughty.”  
  
“Turn it off. Turn it the fuck off!” Dom surged in the chair, back slamming hard against it as he was met with brutal resistance with each push. “Kill the noise now, goddammit.”  
  
Alpha continued to hold the button while Lance writhed on the floor, a small stream of blood flowing from his nose as he futilely attempted to block out the sound. “Please,” Dom finally pleaded. He couldn’t take seeing Lance in pain while not being able to do something about it.  
  
Slowly, Alpha eased his thumb off of the button on his device. “That was just a reminder of who’s in charge. For every reaction, there’s an equal and opposite reaction, and if I give you a privilege, if you abuse it, then someone will get hurt, i.e. him.” He pointed Lance, who still lay gasping on the floor.  
  
Alpha stalked across the room to stand over Lance, whose painful expressions he examined with a critical eye. “Not as bad as I thought. It could have been worse,” he said directly to Dom.  
  
“Fuck, worse? What’s worse than that? You almost scrambled his brain, you crazy fuck.”  
  
“Trust me, it could have been a lot worse.” Pocketing the device in his back pocket, Alpha crouched down beside Lance’s head. He slapped Lance less than lightly on the cheek, pronounced him fine with a gruff nod and pulled him across the room. Lance remained successfully cowed, still disoriented from the sudden violent pain that brought him to him down to floor.  
  
Alpha maneuvered Lance over to the chair and forced him down into a messy sprawl. Lance flopped back limply, his head lulling lazily about as Alpha buzzed about gathering a series of red leads and sticking them to Lance’s forehead.  
  
“I had a good time with my lady and I’m still feeling pretty generous despite you messing up here, Buddy. I had hoped that I would’ve come back to the sight of Lance smiling dopily at you or talking to you about the pretty pictures he likes to draw of black and orange blobs.” He snorted hard. “A real looker this one, but real light on the talent, well, not the oral talent though, from what I’ve heard.”  
  
Once the leads were all placed, he turned back to the desk and searched busily for a piece of hardware. Dom continued fighting his bindings and swearing in long lines of muttered curses that he would end Alpha, end the Dollhouse and whoever the hell else got in his way of doing so.  
  
Alpha aha-ed suddenly as he found the piece of tech he was looking for. He turned around flashing one of the drives from before. Now moreso than before, it resembled a portable hard drive or early nineties walkman radio. Dom’s heart skipped a beat. “This is my last gift, which frankly, you really don’t deserve it.”  
  
He turned the wedge over in his hands, twirled it as he inspected the sides and came to a silent decision. “I’ve made an executive decision to get rid of one more useless personality. Lewis was never going to get this body back,” he stroked Lance’s hair as Lance looked up at him through half-mast slitted eyes. “The system is broken in the Dollhouse, and a top earner like Lance wouldn’t be allowed to just walk away. So my gift is to make sure that he can’t be imprinted with anyone else, just that one.” The wedge laying on the computer table.  
  
Shouting, Dom shook the chair. His vision clouded red, and he’d find the strength to take his freedom before it was too late. “You can’t make that decision. It’s wrong. It’s—“  
  
“Oh, hush, you of all people can’t tell me that you don’t want Brian O’Conner back more than anything. I’m sure you’ve been trying to figure out just how you could do that without feeling like the bad guy. Feeling like you’re no better than the rest who’ve paid for Lance’s time and used his body for their own desires, even though you claim to be all about securing his own.”  
  
Dom stopped—stopped moving, breathing, fighting. Just stopped after Alpha read him cold.  
  
“Don’t worry about denying it. This decision isn’t all about you. As I told you, Lance didn’t handle the other imprints so well. Once Brian got in, they just couldn’t get him out and he had a way of showing up at inappropriate times or influencing Lance’s active interactions. They don’t know all of that yet, but I do. He’s special and I want to preserve that specialness.”  
  
He patted Lance’s arm in an entirely different manner than he had done with Dom. The gesture was one of paternal pride, and if Alpha’s delusions were true, then he felt a certain responsibility to Lance due to his newfound deity status.  
  
“For this procedure, I need three things: this wedge, that hammer and a magnet.” Once he gathered up all the supplies he laid them on the only clear surface in the room. “You see, Lewis had his chance to live, but he was too broken to be put back together…And then Brian took over and became a consciousness; life itself. Now all that remains is making sure he stays alive.”  
  
For all that Dom wanted Brian back, he couldn’t deprive Lewis of all that was rightfully his. No matter how selfish he wanted to be. “Come on, don’t do this. I admit you’re right.”  
  
The hammer slotted under Alpha’s arm as he juggled the magnet and the wedge. “Of course, I’m right,” he barked back. “Now you can just save your breath because the end has come for Lewis Thomas.” He took magnet and rolled it over the wedge, curving over the sides to cover the entire surface area. The magnet was tossed behind him as soon as he was done and Alpha reached for the hammer under his arm.  
  
Alpha enumerated all the ways Lewis could have died if he really wanted to be thorough and now as he raised the hammer, he was offering the only one that would really matter.  
  
“Don’t!” Dom screamed as he raised the hammer.  
  
The wedge sat immobile on the table like a prisoner before a firing squad, blinded and waiting for the end to come. Dom could almost imagine hearing Lewis sigh _no_ in a whisper dedicated to his survival. “So long Lewis: too weak to live and too scared to really die.”  
  
The hammer fell on the wedge full of scrambled memories and life repeatedly fucked over by sociopaths.  
  
The wedge scattered into a million pieces. All jagged and snarled from the strikes of the hammer and Alpha looked down at them with a satisfied smile. He gathered the broken pieces, barebones made of plastic, silicon and circuitry and scooped them onto a piece of paper. “Last thing a real evil hideout needs is a microwave. Now this should be fun.”  
  
The pieces were thrown inside the microwave. Alpha’s fingers danced over the display before landing on the start button. Then whatever remained of Lewis Thomas sparked and crackled like fireworks without the luxury of the Fourth of July.  
  
The room reeked of the odor of melted plastic and hot metal. Alpha dusted his hands with the gusto of a man that had just finished a hard day’s work.  
  
“ Here comes the fun part and I can’t wait to see your face.”  
  
He returned to the desk and snapped up the remaining wedge, Brian’s wedge, and walked to the chair. “I’d be missing a vital opportunity if I didn’t show you just how all this is possible. Allow me to show you what’s behind the curtain.”  
  
The wedge fit into a slot next to the chair. “Would you like a treatment, Lance?” Alpha said too blithely for words, which Lance responded to with a curt nod.  
  
Once again, cold reality slapped him in the face.  
  
As Dom watched Alpha putter around like Doctor Frankenstein, that slap began to leave the heavy sting and nagging ache that set his teeth on edge like a solid blow to the face. Dom faced the truth of his situation; he was tied to the chair, unable to move and forced to watch Alpha’s fingers fly over a dusty keyboard, clicking away with the proficiency of skilled and deliberate fingers, all the while Lance lay supine, just as docile as a lamb to slaughter, and there wasn’t a damn thing Dom could do about it.  
  
The clicking of the keys stopped just then, filling the air with a wave of electric foreboding, with Alpha poised to press a single button. Without facing Dom again, that ceaseless smile he wore, the one that could easily be associated with pain, carried over into his words. “There’s really only one way for this to end and that’s by seeing the real ghost in the machine.”  
  
Alpha plunged his finger down slowly to draw out the suspense and stopped just millimeters above the key. He held up the same finger as he rotated on his heels to face Dom. “Forgot one thing, how silly of me.”  
  
“You finally realize you lost your flippin’ mind?” Dom charged as his right hand pumped and curled ready to strike if Alpha were to get close enough.  
  
He waved Dom’s words off and turned back to the table surface to rummage through the piles of junk. “Can’t rightly say that I’ve lost my mind, since I have, you know, _forty of them_ inside my head.” The sticky electric whine of duct tape followed. “I don’t want you to ruin the surprise.”  
  
The string of obscenities that Dom began to reel off ended with an indistinct infuriated grumble once the stripe of duct tape was slapped across his mouth. Alpha made quick work of taping down his free wrist, binding it so tightly that the tips of Dom’s fingers began to take on the floating disconnection of numbness, quickening after each fruitless grasp at the empty air.  
  
Alpha strode back to the computer, plaintively ignoring Dom’s thrashing and inaudible growled threats of retribution and warning. “You should really do something about that throbbing vein on your forehead. I’d hate for you to stroke out before all the real fireworks.”  
  
Then, he pressed the button and the room exploded in light and flickers of darkness. Alpha practically tittered at the Schadenfreude in the midst of Dom’s mounting shock and Lance’s violent seizing on the chair. Lance’s muscles stood out, bulged starkly, inhumanely rigid as the current passed into him, contorting his body and bending his form to ride the wave.  
  
Dom couldn’t determine how long Lance was pummeled by the current. How long he twisted and turned and arched his back into a parabolic curve while Alpha looked on in glee and Dom in horror. Like the world slowed down when he slipped behind the wheel though he traveled exceedingly fast, the relative speed of this moment lasted forever. And Dom wondered despite Alpha’s self-aggrandizing good deeds and talk of preservation if this was how he actually planned on getting rid of Lance, by frying him like a bird on a frayed wire.  
  
When the current finally dropped off, the air in the room remained charged, dusty and electric, and the hairs of Dom’s arms remained standing still, also pregnant with anticipation. Lance lay still and too much like a corpse.  
  
Alpha’s grin dimmed slightly despite his best efforts to keep out his own nervousness. “Any minute n--”  
  
Lance bounded upward with the quickness of a steel trap. His chest pounding like oxygen had long since been deprived and he looked around the room, freaked out but infinitely sharper than he had been. Even before his eyes slanted to Dom and clouded in confusion, which settled into mild relief. Dom knew exactly who was in front of him: Brian O’Conner.  
  
His chest rose and fell so quickly, Brian’s breathing bordered on hyperventilation.  
  
“Wha….Where? Huh… the hell is this?” He gasped. The only thing missing from the absurdity of the moment was the long adrenaline spike protruding from Brian’s chest as in Pulp Fiction.  
  
Brian’s hands skirted his forehead and his side, where he’d been hurt after their mad dash with Braga. He looked up sharply and scowled as he became aware of Dom sitting across from him tied to a chair. “Dom?” Brian intoned confusedly.  
  
He leapt off the chair onto unexpectedly steady feet and scrambled over to Dom, rounding the bottom of the chair to slide like a runner heading to base before Dom’s feet.  
  
He’d reached for the tape when Alpha decided to make his presence known. “And the prodigal blond has returned,” he said in an uncanny impersonation of Howard Cosell. “Just look at this happy reunion. Stuff like this is what Hallmark is built on.”  
  
Brian’s piercing blue eyes rolled up to Dom’s, reflecting the appropriate sharpness that Dom had come to forever associate with him and burning incomparably incandescent on spikes of pure adrenaline and simmering rage. He rolled up to his feet, arms extended to his sides in a show of surrender and side-stepped to the left deliberately using his body to shield Dom.  
  
Alpha clapped his hands together excitedly. “It’s been a long time, O’ Conner,” he said keeping his distance.  
  
“Sorry, I can’t say the same.” Brian used his cop voice, the one that came out when he wanted to keep the peace for a while longer. It was the one that tried to keep people from getting hurt. If the tape had been removed, this was the right moment to inform Brian that there was no negotiating with that fruitcake.  
  
Slowly, Brian dropped his arms. “How about you tell me what you want? Because I must have missed that much?”  
  
Alpha smirked, “Yeah, you did. Dom and I were having a big ol’ party without you. Isn’t that right, Dom? Just tea for two until you graced us with your presence.”  
  
“You work for Braga?” Alpha shook his head. “Verone?” Another shake. “Then who?”  
  
Shrugging, Alpha looked off at various points around the room. “No one really. I’m a person of independent enterprise. Don’t worry, Brian, this is all going to work out.” He assured with a wave of his hand.  
  
“That’s good to know, but, uh, hard to understand, since I’m not quite sure where here is or why he’s tied up like that.”  
  
Serving up a benevolent grin, Alpha said cheerfully, “Like I said, have a little faith, my Abercrombie and Fitch-ready-friend. This was just a little experiment, a demonstration, like, you two do when you beat your chests before your drive at the speed of stupid.”  
  
Brian’s back stiffened at the insult. “No need to be nasty, bro. Just tell me what you want.”  
  
Alpha curled his fingers through the air dreamily, with the smooth motion of a conductor guiding a symphony. As one of his arms cut through the air, he said, “I have many wants and I have many needs,” he replied pensively. “Most involve realizing my dream of being the new century’s supreme deity or cutting a lot of people up. Maybe a show on HBO, too, though it’s hard to figure out which one I want more.”  
  
Looking over his shoulder, Brian caught Dom’s eye. His eyes tightened at the corners and his quirked brow clearly yelled, _Is he really fucking serious?_  
  
Dom rolled his eyes, his eyebrows had permanently taken up residence on his forehead and he shrugged. _You see what I’ve had to deal with. This pendejo is cuckooer than Coco-Puffs._  
  
“Now none of that. I’m sure you two can have scintillating conversations communicated eerily through your scowls, sly smiles and manly longing glances, but now’s just not the time.” He trailed off in a shrug and an increasingly screechy whine. “As for your original question: I want you to get in the chair.”  
  
Brian gave the chair a hard look and shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen. That thing is missing its safety belts and I don’t ride anywhere without a seatbelt.”  
  
Dom rolled his eyes again, because this could end very badly. Though watching Brian smart off to Alpha made him feel a small sense of satisfaction, knowing that Brian was in essence poking a coiled rattler had him sitting on edge and wobbling his chair to get attention, but Brian dropped a hand behind him and motioned for him to cut it out.  
  
“Ever the boy scout. I heard that was one of your most requested engagements after the naughty school boy.”  
  
Brian held his hands out in a surrendering gesture. “What?”  
  
Alpha blinked and looked to the chair. “Nothing, it’s not relevant. You getting in the chair is. So we can either do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s not my brain on the line, just yours.”  
  
Brian released a long exhale and shook his head, chuckling with unpredicted low timbre of a engine kicking over. “Bro, I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. But I can tell you that I’m still not getting in that damn chair.”  
  
Alpha craned his neck out to see Dom, who was immediately blocked from view again by Brian’s short slide. “Stubborn. Willful. He’s everything I told you he was.” Alpha reached into his back pocket, removing the black device and Dom’s noise-making kicked up to a frantic _look at me now_ distraction, which Brian stubbornly ignored.  
  
He smiled, slowly revealing a pearly front. “Hard way it is. P.S. I like the hard way.”  
  
He slipped his finger to the button on the face of the receiver and the tone began again. Brian immediately reached for his head, palming his ears like Lance had done before. He held his ground longer, though his feet began to slip, slide away from beneath him and the stiffness of his body forced him to drop with the heaviness of a steel bar to the floor. He jerked around to glance at Dom, whose straining momentum began to tip the chair forward.  
  
Another stream of blood fell from Brian’s nostrils; Brian shook his head fighting the piercing frequency, but ultimately failing as his eyes began to turn glassy.  
  
With his finger still on the pulse, Alpha slipped behind Brian, snagged him beneath the arms and dragged him away kicking and flailing in protest.  
  
He deftly managed to toss Brian up into the chair without removing his thumb. Brian reached out to grab the device, but he reached out at a snail’s pace; Alpha easily knocked his hand down and strapped his arms down to the chair. The red electrodes were reapplied to Brian’s forehead through a few less than gentle slaps.  
  
Once secure, Alpha took his finger off the button and Brian’s body sagged in pained relief. He didn’t open his eyes again. “Sometimes the only way to calm an animal down is with a few taps on the nose. Say bye-bye, Brian’s gotta go back to cold storage for a while.”  
  
Alpha pressed the same button on the keyboard, forcing Brian to sway and twist as he rode the unseen current, falling faster back into the abyss that was Lance’s blank slate.  
  
When he finished, Alpha crept back to the chair, disengaging the leads with more finesse than previously shown. Dom watched him as he twisted Lance’s unresponsive face to and fro, examining the fine details as he allowed his fingers to venture through Lance’s violently mussed curly hair. “It really is soft. Huh.” He declared offhandedly.  
  
Dom watched him put the device aside without straying from his examination of Lance’s face. Nothing about this was right. The science. The cruelty. Nothing. Seeing Alpha like this, so close to an unguarded Lance, Dom couldn’t believe that he’d though this guy to be something other than a predator.  
  
Each stroke over Lance’s cheeks, still flushed red from exertion, to his lips pink and parted down to the slope of his nose was uncomfortable—wrong and made him squirm, because Brian would have slapped his hands away long ago and sprang on him like an alley cat, if he’d been home at the time.  
  
“I haven’t told you much about my habitual hobby. I cut…people mostly.” Light gleamed off the face of a long, obviously sharp knife that emerged slowly from the depths of Alpha’s front pocket. “And a face like this without a flaw is just begging for imperfection. They’ll fix my work, but my mark will remain and they’ll all know that he wasn’t _his_ best, because this time I was. Proving once again, how much better I am than all of them.”  
  
The knife rolled over the crests of Lance’s cheekbones down to the valleys of his cheeks and up to skate the straight line of his nose. Dom’s chair rocked forward, the back legs rising as he rolled himself towards Alpha. He’d stop this even if he had to _will_ himself out of the chair. He wouldn’t let Alpha cut up Lance’s face like deli meat.  
  
Alpha placed the knife at the corner of Lance’s temple, smiled down at him with soft round eyes. “Perfect,” he said as he drew the knife back in two quick strokes. Two twin lines bloomed and sprang forth with blood that rolled back painting the edges of Lance’s hair. “Now, he’s perfect.”  
  
The knife returned to Alpha’s pocket with little fanfare. Dom’s eyes were stuck on Lance, watching the blood trickle back like a waterfall, streaking the golden curls red in its wake. Head wounds bled a lot, he knew this, had experienced the principle first hand several times, but this was of course different.  
  
For all that Alpha talked about saving Brian, and by extension Lance, he had a really fucked up way of showing it. Dom could only imagine that the next thing to follow would be a cut to the throat or shank to the gut. Either way, he figured Alpha trussed him up like this to keep him immobile and ready to be stuck like a pig should the fancy strike.  
  
Hadn’t Alpha said coming up on a psychos radar meant life was over? Fight as he might, Dom couldn’t see the end out of this one. Neither did Alpha’s approach bode well for his chances at surviving this _conversation_.  
  
“Since I’m all out of good deeds, I think I’ll just take a let me time. You know that time where me and my lady can finally get down to _bidness_.” He clicked his teeth smugly, shooting finger pistols Dom’s way, “Maybe a little waltzing, charades or electric boogaloo…”  
  
Dom pulled away from the clap on the shoulder. The niceties be damned. The freak had screwed them over for the last time. “Just me and my lady. So just sit tight.”  
  
He jerked, gnashing his teeth behind the tape as a new syringe found itself plunged into his back. Alpha clapped him on the shoulder again after tossing the needle into some far off corner. “Time for a siesta,” Alpha said as he strode across the room to the door. “Sweet dreams.”  
  
The door rolled shut again with a final snap that echoed through the room. He was left with the hum and buzz and occasional clicks of the machinery like mechanical crickets chirping, while reminding him that he was yet alive in spite of the slow crawl of gray filling his eyes and the heaviness of his head.  
  
Lance lay terribly still. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Dom would’ve believed him to be dead. His head had been turned and twisted just like Lance’s body in the imprinting machine. Despite his worldview being forever skewed and skewered beyond all recognition, Dom was left with certain insurmountable facts.  
  
Primarily, Brian and Lance were too stubborn to die. And if they were capable of hanging on, then he was too.  
  
His head finally dropped, chin to chest, too heavily to be held up any longer and he closed his eyes, joining Lance in oblivion.


	9. Eight

Darkness was pierced by blinding light and the hazy figure that clouded his vision. Echo. He sussed out her big brown eyes and worried expression. She opened her mouth speaking and for all she tried to talk to him, all he heard was the indiscernible trumpet _wah-wah_ of the teacher from the Peanuts Gang. She shook her head, realizing that Dom just couldn’t understand her at the moment and the dream faded back to black.  
  
Bang.  
  
The next time he woke up it was to the sound of something heavy crashing against the door. Lance was still out, attached to the hanging electrodes. Was he dead?  
  
Bang.  
  
Light poured into the room. Dom turned his heavy head towards the light, squinting as black shapes poured through. It wasn’t until the largest came through did Dom finally realize what he was seeing.  
  
It was Hobbs.  
  
In the sea of twelve other suited security members, Dom caught the permanent grimace of Paul Ballard bringing up the rear.  
  
While Hobbs checked on Lance, a few faceless suits swooped in on Dom, cutting through his restraints like a hot knife through butter and politely removing the tape from his mouth without leaving him any worse for wear.  
  
The flow of blood back into limbs surged through like a flood, hurting like a bitch along the way. His arms and hands tingled as full sensation returned. He’d take this feeling any day over the unrelenting bite of hard plastic into his skin.  
  
Hobbs checked Brian over intensely. A snap of his fingers delivered two suits chairside, readying to cart Lance off as soon as Hobbs gave the word. He stepped back, directing them to bring Lance to the med van.  
  
As Dom rolled to his feet, his head continued to clear and he was able to see the activity in the room for what it was. Security inspected, bagged and tagged any and everything Alpha supposedly touched, while Ballard scowled so hard at the computer set-up that Dom swore his face would break.  
  
Tons of Fun eased his way over to Dom, stopping short of being nose to nose. Hobbs grinned, “You did good, Toretto,” clapping Dom on the shoulder like Alpha had.  
  
Dom was sick of people he generally didn’t like touching him, so he did the only thing he could at a time like this. He slugged Hobbs directly in the face and stalked out for the room.  
  
Behind him, Ballard laughed.  
  
A smile quirked Dom’s lips. The satisfaction of finally getting something to go his way this day was priceless. Fulfilling his promise to get Hobbs back for that cheap shot was just the cherry on top of surviving when no one else believed he would.  
  
His only thought as he emerged into the sun after far too many hours without it was the desire to tell Brian all about it.  


~*~*~*~

  
  
The lady doctor, Dr. Saunders, cleaned the cuts along his wrists and the welts up his arm with strong confident fingers. After what he’d been through, her alcohol swabs wouldn’t solicit a reaction from him.  
  
This close he saw a few very important details that he’d missed the first time around. Her nice face was marred by faded scars, lines cut into her skin by a sharp blade now covered in make-up, shame and bearing the constant reminder of what Alpha was capable of.  
  
It was hard to count them lucky, but he was relieved that Alpha had only cut where he had and not left his calling card all over Lance or Brian’s clear features.  
  
Dr. Saunders was a tall, lean, angular woman, who seemed to be a little like DeWitt, capable of standing against the shit blowing her way and walking away afterwards. Dom actually appreciated that they weren’t talking at the moment. His head was too full from the last few days and recollecting on all of it would require more peace of mind than he could muster.  
  
He’d watched her weigh the decision to give him a pain killer, shake it off instead and apply a numbing antibiotic cream to his wrists. He wouldn’t have taken the pills either way. His head had only reached an even keel; the last thing he wanted was to end up loopy, trapped inside of the Dollhouse. He trusted this pack just about as far as he could throw them.  
  
She packed his arms down in singular fuzzy white gauze squares and later wrapped them in the free flowing linen tape. Dr. Sanders slipped her gloves off. They hit the garbage can with a wet smack and he grimaced slightly, that sound never ceased to not be gross.  
  
A glass jar appeared before his face full to the brim with multicolored suckers. The plastic wrap on the head offered some comfort as she offered them. “Take one. You can’t pass through the office without a treat.”  
  
Dom considered her offer for a fleeting second or two, just because this place felt like it inspired parents to tell their kids about the dangers of accepting candy from strangers. He was a grown man, several times over, but had managed to be kidnapped, sedated and generally mindfucked repeatedly in the last forty-eight hours. Forgive him if he was a little hesitant to take Dr. Saunders' generosity at face value.  
  
Eventually, he took one, a blue sucker, because he was feeling sentimental and so as to not appear rude.  
  
“Thanks, Doc.” Dom slipped off the table, dropping the sucker into his pocket as he stepped outside into the atrium, where the dolls walked about freely, some even smiling as they passed.  
  
Ballard waited for him outside the door. Arms crossed over his chest, his thoughts were clear as day as he scowled out at the dysfunctional scene in front of them.  
  
Dom sidled up beside Ballard and pulled his shirt back into place. The shirt was just long enough to hide the bandages, which might take a little explaining later, depending on how the deal shaped up. “It woulda been nice if you guys could’ve showed up before the Alpha stabbed me in the back with a bigass needle and tried to turn Lance’s brains into slush.”  
  
Without looking at him, Ballard replied with his signature dry delivery. “Sorry we couldn’t manage thirty-minutes or less, but you understand Alpha hid you all almost as good as a needle in a haystack. Just be grateful that we got there when we did.”  
  
Dom shrugged. Too bad he wouldn’t get a chance to punch Ballard, because he needed to take one to the face too, then Dom would feel better; not quite peachy, but almost there. “Does it look like I’m complaining?”  
  
Ballard’s eyes weren’t on the floor any longer, but overhead, where a few suits and Mr. Langton, escorted a woman to the elevator. She didn’t look like the rest of the people in the house. She was a little thicker, more homely like; looked like she’d be someone that used to live on his block and always said good morning to him and Mia when they went out for the paper.  
  
As she walked through the herd of security, Dom noticed that she carried herself differently. In her step was awareness, composure and the good sense to be wary of the place. Dom took a sidelong glance at Ballard, whose expression had softened as the woman walked towards the elevator.  
  
He had a clue. “That her?” The one that Ballard hadn’t come to save.  
  
Paul watched her until she stepped inside the elevator, the doors closing and taking her away from sight. “Yeah,” he nodded with eyes still focused on the spot. “She’s going home again.”  
  
So she was going home to be herself. Just great, he thought, as long as there was a self to put back into the body. Alpha said he’d made sure that that wouldn’t be the case with Lance.  
  
Dom doubted coincidence led to the woman leaving this day. “You engineer that release?” Any leverage was good leverage as far as he could see. Funny, Ballard had come into the place hellbent on getting Echo out and leaving that one behind. Now she was the one leaving and Echo was going back to life as per usual.  
  
Paul didn’t answer him then or afterwards. He simply pulled his eyes away from the spot where the woman had been and spared Dom a glance and walked away, calling out, “Glad you’re okay,” as he went.  
  
Alpha didn’t turn up at the end of the raid. Somehow despite finding the needle in the haystack, according to Mr. Langton, he still gave fifteen or so suits, Hobbs, Langton, and Ballard the slip. That disappearing act would have been impressive, if Alpha hadn’t killed, kidnapped and destroyed countless innocent things in the process. Now he was back out there like the mysterious Rusty Nail, and Dom couldn’t quite get over that name either, who had driven Lewis into the arms of the Dollhouse in the first place.  
  
From the back of the atrium, Hobbs called him. Dom inclined his head towards him, smirking righteously at the reddish-purple patch spreading over his left jaw. It made Dom feel miles better every time he saw it.  
  
“DeWitt wants to see you.” Hobbs said as Dom approached.  
  
Another trip up the elevator, goody. At least, this trip didn’t involve handcuffs. Hobbs stepped aside, matching his steps with Dom’s as they moved towards the executive elevator.  
  
Dom already had his guard up before the doors opened. Hobbs looked too smug for someone who’d been forced to eat a knuckle sandwich recently or maybe he was excited the place was back in order after the chaos that descended. “Surprised to see me, Hobbs? I bet you missed my ugly mug these last two days.”  
  
“Toretto, yeah, I can say that I honestly though Alpha would make hamburger out of you. Color me shocked that you’re still here. Since you’re up and walking, I guess this means we’ll end up Facebook friends now.”  
  
Dom snorted. “Hate to bust your bubble, Hobbs, cons don’t get facebook privileges. All that liking or whatever is bad for the oppressive morale.”  
  
Despite the bruise coating his jaw, Hobbs was all pearly smiles. If his grin got any bigger, he’d look like he was auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. “You’re a funny, guy. Almost wish we didn’t have to take you back to the pound. It’d be nice to have someone to spar with.”  
  
“Aw, you’re making me blush.” Dom rolled his eyes. Was this guy for real?  
  
Not likely, Dom didn’t see himself sticking around longer than he had to. He had a natural talent for improvising. Going into DeWitt’s office, he would play up the survival aspect and the fact that both Echo and Lance ended up being recovered alive. If anything, he should be able to parley those items alone into a deal similar to Ballard’s former lady friend.  
  
The elevator chimed as they reached the top floor. “DeWitt’s got the right connections to get you off the hook you’re dangling on, but don’t go in there expecting miracles. She can do a lot of things, but walking on water ain’t one of ‘em.”  
  
“I’ll remember that.” Dom said as he stepped off the elevator.  
  
Hobbs escorted him down the same tastefully decorated hallway, this time deserted at every corner, so silent that the sounds of their feet on the carpet seemed too loud. Hobbs rapped his knuckles on the wooden door, waited for the muffled acknowledgment that eventually came after sticking his head inside.  
  
He directed Dom inside with a nudge of his head and another Crest white grin. “I can shine your head for luck,” Hobbs smirked as Dom passed.  
  
This guy was aiming for another chin-pop. An amused sound left Dom’s throat. “Yours first,” he muttered and closed the door in Hobb’s still grinning face.  
  
DeWitt was hard at work behind her desk, signing a series of papers with grand swoops of her pen. “Just a moment,” she said as she signed the last sheet, stacked it with the rest and rose from her desk. “Have a seat please.”  
  
Dom sat in the single bucket chair across from her low slung leather couch. The thing had the look of an appearance piece of furniture, just like decals on a car or an emblem rather than a piece for function like, say, a spoiler. He waited quietly for her to join him.  
  
She circled the edge of the desk before stepping on the plush carpet. Her hands folded below her waist, giving her the stance of the all-knowing teacher. The one that none of the kids no matter how badass they thought they were would needlessly provoke.  
  
“You’ve done this house a great service and I have you to thank for the survival of our actives in this highly unstable situation. Though Alpha has escaped our efforts to apprehend him, we will have him sooner than later. That is a promise.”  
  
DeWitt crossed the carpet to the bar set up against the back wall. She raised a clear bottle in invitation. “Drink?”  
  
Rest assured that drink would be coming from her personal stock, guaranteed top shelf booze. “Sure.” Thank God for small favors.  
  
“You will forever have the gratitude of this house, Mr. Toretto, because what you’ve done is quite a feat.”  
  
“Thanks, but I didn’t do it for your house. I did it for...” The answer was obviously Brian, whether she wanted to hear him say it or not. He’d managed to survive for Brian’s sake.  
  
“For Brian, of course.” Her expression transitioned into a quaint look that somehow managed to straddle the line between patronizing and sympathetic. Color him impressed. “Mr. Toretto, I won’t disavow your chivalry; it’s quite refreshing actually.”  
  
“Well, good, and it’s not chivalry. It’s doing the right thing, because you never leave family behind.”  
  
She poured a second drink. “Again, you are so refreshing. This belief that Brian,” she said with elaborate air quotes, “is family just shows how dangerous your engagement with Lance actually was.” She silenced the eventual comment that coincided with his nascent scowl. “Before my hospitality grows thin and I forget the deal made previously, I will tell you this as bluntly as I can that you have neither the money nor the influence to make decisions of Lance’s behalf. This conversation has been telling and informative, but I think you forget yourself despite the services rendered to this house.”  
  
“Lady, you’re really something. Why someone would put their entire life in your hands is a mystery to me.”  
  
“Touché, Mr. Toretto, I’ve been hearing that quite a lot recently. Maybe I’ll look into it. Though the same could be said about Brian putting his faith in you. I guess some mysteries will have to remain unsolved.”  
  
Dom took the offered drink while giving her the hairy eyeball. The amber liquor was pure, the content of the proof tickled his nose and he slugged it back, feeling the smooth burn all the way down. “That’s good,” he said and she nodded with a cryptic smile on her face.  
  
She sipped from her own glass. “Though I shouldn’t discuss Lance’s situation with you, I find that we are at an impasse about his contract.”  
  
Contract. There it was again. The agreement that just let people slip out of their bodies and end up as space fillers on a computer geek’s shelves. Alpha said he’d destroyed all of Lance’s imprints and Dom had witnessed for himself that Lewis, the original Lance and Brian, was now scattered in a million jagged little pieces across the dirty floor in the plant.  
  
“Lance has reached the end of his five year obligation. However we cannot replace Mr. Thomas back into his original body, as you know, because Alpha destroyed the original imprint wedge. So, now I am at an impasse: what to do with Lance? Should I keep him--”  
  
“No,” Dom interjected. Keeping Lance wasn’t an option.  
  
DeWitt polished off the rest of her glass and held it just below her chin, twisting it hither and fro like a radio dial. “Or we can use the one option Alpha gave us and imprint him permanently, alter the active architecture first, I presume, with the Brian O’Conner construct. Though I have strong reservations about that course of options. Brian O’Conner as an imprint has proven to be one of our more…colorful engagements and I’d feel a great deal of responsibility for whatever he got up to outside of this house.”  
  
Dom placed his glass on the table in front of him without dropping his eyes from DeWitt’s. “Fundamentally, Brian’s a good guy and I won’t let him get into too much trouble.” He said sincerely.  
  
The corner of her mouth raised a fraction. “You say that like you aren’t a magnet for trouble as well. My concern rests in the two of you. I’d want Brian to stay away from you, because contact between you tends to be explosive and it’s highly ill-advised.”  
  
If that was what she wanted, then she should’ve told him. Brian was nothing if not independent. “Put Brian back in and let him make his choice. I can’t be responsible if he does what he wants rather than what you tell him to do.” Wasn’t that the nature of free will? Choice.  
  
“Right,” DeWitt rose to her feet. “I believe you have given me much to think about, Mr. Toretto. I’ll finish acquiring the last items for your release. Mr. Hobbs will be waiting for you outside that door.”  
  
Before he left, he had one question, spurred on by the monitors capturing the dolls as they roamed the place like pretty zombies. Cows to be fattened, waiting patiently for the slaughter. “I gotta ask this before I leave. Everything I’ve done in my life, I’ve been able to sleep with, except three.” He pointed to the screens. “How can you sleep when there’s that downstairs? These people put their faith in you and the last thing they expect is to be pimped like some jailhouse two-cig bitch. I’m just asking, because I know I wouldn’t be able to.”  
  
She regarded him silently, before moving to pour herself another drink. “To your first question, Mr. Toretto, I sleep very well. One thousand-count Egyptian cotton assures that. Two, if I wasn’t here to watch this house, then someone else would be here, and instead of them negotiating a deal with you for the return of Echo and Lance, you would be on your way to the Attic, a prison that you would never be able to escape, or be the recipient to a bullet to your skull.”  
  
She walked over to the screens, gazed at them like a mother would her child. DeWitt caressed the screens featuring the dolls painting and smiling in blissful ignorance. “Another watching this house would have boxed up Lance years ago without any possibility of return until his five years ended, meaning no reunion for you two, no expression of fond feelings, only what ifs and bitter feelings.”  
  
DeWitt put her back to the screen and strode across the room to open the door for Dom. “Lastly, I think it ironic that you ask me how well I sleep when your very freedom has been constructed on the backs of the dolls in this very house.” She opened the door, giving him a way out and a rest to this conversation. “Just some food for thought, Mr. Toretto. The conditions of your deal will be satisfied shortly.”  
  
She closed the door.  
  
Dom walked to the elevator where Hobbs waited.  
  
“You all set to ease on down the Convict Road?” Hobbs asked, stroking his goatee.  
  
“Looks like,” Dom said, slowly drawing his eyes away from DeWitt’s door.  
  
The ride down to the atrium was a quiet one with Dom lost in his thoughts and Hobbs without a bad joke to share.  
  
There was one matter yet to be resolved. “Do you think I can see Lance before we go?”  
  
For the first time, Hobbs actually looked uncertain. Dom perceived that Hobbs had received his orders prior to taking Dom upstairs; either way his stay in the Dollhouse was at a close. “I can’t promise you that you can talk to him. The mad scientist is setting him up for a treatment.” Hobbs looked up to lab where Echo was striding out the door, features blank once again and Crystal nowhere to be found. This decision was solely up to Hobbs, who wasn’t one of Dom’s favorite people. “One last look, then we go,” Hobbs decided.  
  
They crossed the atrium in silence again, taking the stairs as to the second floor, where Ballard waited outside the lab.  
  
Another suit guided Lance to the room. Lance cleaned up well. In a fresh set of their standard pajamas, he looked collected and well rested. The only sign that anything had happened remained in the redness of his eyes, which were darker than the usual tired pink, and the flush around his nose where blood had flowed freely after the pulse. The light blue cotton shirt he wore made his eyes glow ethereally bright, almost dazzling like halogens. Unlike under the blinding beam of real halogens, Dom could not look away when Lance’s eyes found him.  
  
Lance smiled as sweetly as cool water on a hot summer day. “Hello, Dee.”  
  
“Hey, Lance,” Dom replied, doing his best to keep his tone light. “You doin’ okay?”  
  
“I was my best today, so we can go fast soon, right?”  
  
The _no_ that sat poised to slip out caught in his throat and Dom could only nod. “Yeah,” he agreed, tasting bitterness on his tongue.  
  
The handler behind Lance put a hand on the small of his back, pushing him along. Dom rooted himself in place, still like a tree to keep himself from reaching out to grab Lance and keep him in front of his eyes for a few minutes longer.  
  
As Lance was led away, he turned back to see Dom. “See you later?” He asked and Dom would swear to his dying day that a spark showed in his eyes. The same spark that thought jumping on semis and driving backwards through traffic were clearly designed to be exit strategies. Even without his cross over his chest, he had faith that maybe Lance was right.  
  
What else could he say after that, but “Yes” and Lance’s smile widened and he looked so breathtakingly beautiful. Lance continued to watch him until he and the handler reached the doors to the lab and he disappeared inside.  
  
He stood there silently watching the doors, feeling like a mountain had settled over his chest.  
  
“Time to go back, Toretto,” Ballard brushed past him and Hobbs pushed him towards the elevator.  
  
Inside the elevator, Hobbs turned to him, “He’ll be alright. We’ll take better care of him until he skips out of this place.” It was no use in pointing out that they were supposed to do all of that anyway. Dom just hoped that Lance would get a chance to skip out of the place, rather than get placed permanently on a shelf.  
  
Ballard stood ahead of Dom and Hobbs. He’d been standing with his arms crossed over his chest, just staring off at the inner sides of the elevator doors. “I’ll watch out for him.” Which wasn’t a surprise.  
  
Dom had heard Ballard and Langton talking outside the doctor’s office. Apparently another deal had been cut for Ballard and it seemed by the brutal set of his shoulders that Ballard had accepted. He was giving his life over to the Dollhouse, while Dom was being cut loose, services rendered, to be paid in full. End of shebang.  
  
The doors slide open, putting them off on a level that looked completely above board. Another suit waited for them with Dom’s folded orange jumpsuit in his hands.  
  
Hobbs passed the suit back. “Back to the chain gang, Boss.”  
  
Dom took the suit before following down the hall. These were his first steps away from the Dollhouse and he didn’t look back.  


~*~*~*~

  
  
Dom had never been a fan of the color orange. On cars, it was fine, made a fast car look infinitely faster when it blurred past and gave all other drivers a view of its tail lights. On people, orange was decidedly more fickle; not adding an extra spark of electricity to the step of causal wears. He hated wearing orange. It was a color he’d come to associate with slate gray walls and hopelessness.  
  
For the first time in his life, he wore orange and marched, though it resembled a valiant shuffle, up the receiving ramp leading back inside the Twin Towers—to County. With wrists and ankles chained, he should have been dreading each step, but the solid presences of Ballard and Hobbs flanking him continued to buoy him against the tide of expectant desperation.  
  
Thirty-six to seventy hours, DeWitt had said. All too many hours for him to be confined, but considering where he’d been in the days prior and what he’d been facing less than seventy-hours ago, he would shore up Zen-like patience and wait until his deal had come through.  
  
Inside, Ballard handed him off to the CO’s manning the intake station. He scratched away at the clipboard and slid it across the window opening. Dom faced Ballard and Hobbs as he was shaken down and unchained from the ankle and waist restraints. The inspecting CO spared a long glance at Dom’s bandaged wrists and hovered indecisively about checking them.  
  
Doctor Sander’s had done a good job numbing his abrasions and wrapping them tightly. Playing will he or won’t he with the guard was annoying. No one liked having a wound poked and prodded. He’d prefer if the guard just got on with it so he thrust his wrists forward, paler veins topside with the silent command to just _hurry the fuck up_ , and the guard complied, landing specific butterfly touches to the circumference of his bandaged wrist.  
  
Paul shook his head, obviously still amazed by Dom’s balls even inside of jail. “You’ve been a big help, Toretto. I hope you’ll use this opportunity to stay out of trouble.”  
  
Dom half-snorted, rolled his eyes and spread his legs as the CO ordered. Trouble and Dominic Toretto always tended to run neck in neck, though the trouble the Dollhouse carried was a unique brand of crazy that Dom wouldn’t be speaking about ever. The Dollhouse was one toy metaphor too many and contained more secrets than he’d ever wanted to be privy to.  
  
“Me? I’m practically a boy scout,” he said coyly. “I think the same could be said for you.” Whether he wanted to admit it, Ballard was too deep to walk away from the Dollhouse as it was. As long as Echo remained inside, he’d be there as well, maybe even long after she was gone as well.  
  
Ballard pursed his lips, making his jaw protrude like a black and white cowboy, and circled his finger in the air, not having the words to snap back at Dom. Hobbs laughed then, loud and obnoxiously, and despite his size, seemingly taking up half of the hallway alone with the breadth of his shoulders, he’d been almost forgotten about during the previous exchange.  
  
He grinned at Dom. All those pearly fronts gleaming even in the dimmed industrial lighting of the hall. “Sure you don’t want to reconsider, Toretto? I’m sure we’d find the perfect job to put those little muscles to use.”  
  
“Thanks, but no thanks. Anyway, I’m on vacation as it is,” he said holding up his cuffed wrists. “I don’t think I could handle another one anytime soon.”  
  
 _Smartass_ was written across Hobbs’ face. The soon-to-be ex-Fed and Hobbs watched the guards finish their pat-down and angled Dom towards the next set of double doors. If Dom was lucky this would be the last time, he’d ever see either of those two men again. For as long as he lived, Dom promised to never talk about the Dollhouse, but he’d love to forget if at all possible and just keep his memories of Brian O’Conner static after they dragged Braga across the border.  
  
No rest for the wicked, he supposed when Hobbs bellowed, “See you soon, Toretto” cheerfully down the hall. If Dom didn’t know better, he’d say Hobbs almost sounded expectant. Hobbs was sure to be disappointed.  
  
As the CO’s pulled Dom down the hallway, he called over his shoulder, “No, you won’t,” and his smirk became a full-grown smile as Hobb’s laughter bounced off the walls behind him.  
  
Back on his old block, he was handed over to Carter. “Was wondering where you got off to for so long?”  
  
He shuffled along next to her as they neared his cell. “I was where I was supposed to be.” Seventy-two hours or not, the last thing he would do was open his mouth and say that he’d been talking to the Feds for days on end.  
  
He stepped inside cell, back to the door as it slammed shut. Not a thing was out of place as far as he could see, though there hadn’t been much inside to take or change besides the bed, toilet and sink.  
  
“Yeah, but the good ones are always missed. Trust me,” Carter said as she snapped her gum in time with the snaps of the handcuffs being retracted. “Even after a couple of days, I’d take a couple of you versus the whole mess of them.”  
  
A compliment was a compliment. Dom rubbed his wrists once they were finally free and continued to stare ahead at the sheet of gray concrete before him. “I’ll try to live up to your high expectations.”  
  
“Good, makes my job easier. By the way, what’s up with the wrists? I thought you said you’d been good.”  
  
Dom shrugged, thinking about Alpha’s tests and speeches and being held as a literal captive audience. “I was too cooperative, if you can believe it.”  
  
She made a noise in her throat then, a mixture between muted interest and disdain. He wasn’t sure who it was directed at, but she followed up her observation with—“Let me know if you need some infirmary time. Last thing I need is someone dropping dead from an infection.”  
  
Carter left him then, stalking down the hall to peruse the other cells and Dom kept his eyes on the wall. High, solid, gray and concrete, it wouldn’t be changing anytime soon, and his mind tired and still burning the last fumes of adrenaline needed something as static as the wall to bring him down for the hard crash. His body would ache, muscles tight and locked up, while his skin would inch under the burden of cheap artificial fibers in his jumpsuit, and his head would pound, still too wound up and confused, sad and terrified of all that he’d learned.  
  
Dom needed the wall to find his equilibrium. Just hold on to it as the world beyond these walls shifted and reordered itself into something he could live with, all the while keeping Brian O’Conner in a nice neat corner with the labels _friend, cop, betrayer, friend, lover_ stacked up like bricks inside a wall.  
  
Hour one began with the squeaky wheels of the food cart easing into the block. Dom took a deep breath; he held it and looking for the inevitable head rush, and closed his eyes.


	10. Nine

A little over forty-six hours later, he sat at a table with Director Penning and Agent Loomis. The absence of Agent Trinh did not go unnoticed by Dom. He wondered if she’d been the one to deliver the staggering evidence that demonstrated his cooperation and false implication in the Southern California semi truck hijacking spree.  
  
His lawyer, who’d been trying to play it cool and had been jumping for the first possible deal to come their way, sat literally gobsmacked. Meanwhile Dom sat totally amused, though his face outwardly remained stony, as Penning tripped all over himself explaining the circumstances that were permitting Dom’s expedient release. At this rate, Dom would name his first child Extenuating Circumstances in honor of all the string pulling.  
  
Dom admittedly almost lost his shit when Penning got to the juicy part that included the call from the governor’s office. Apparently, Governor Terminator couldn’t allow a taxpaying small business owner to rot due to insubstantial evidence, tampering, prejudicial treatment due to previous incarceration status, entrapment, and the cherry on the top of the cake-- the accusation of racial profiling,  
  
Though unfailingly polite, Agent Loomis side-eyed Penning so hard, it was a wonder that he hadn’t reeled back from the mental smack. Clearly, she was supremely embarrassed on his behalf. She looked at Dom and his attorney nonplussed and committed to making her final point. “However, there’s still the subject of the illegal border crossing and evasion of a federal warrant.”  
  
Feeling reassured and renewed with all the gifts basically sitting at their feet, Halcòn’ smirked not the least bit subtly at Dom before addressing Loomis. “Due to the previous circumstances, I believe my client should be released expediently. Nothing less is acceptable.”  
  
Agent Loomis didn’t bat at an eye, nor did she look at all intimidated by Mr. Halcòn’s attempt at throwing his weight around. “That would occur if your client didn’t have these charges, which are independent of his involvement--”  
  
“Previously alleged involvement,” Mr. Halcòn interjected, confidently.  
  
Loomis paused. “Previously alleged involvement,” she amended, “in the Braga and the interstate hijacking cases. The DA is asking for the maximum of five years in a minimum security prison; parole in two.”  
  
“Ridiculous, we won’t contemplate anything more than six months house arrest, and if that offer isn’t accepted my next move will be to hold a press conference exposing the incompetence and prejudice of the Los Angeles Office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. And the mess that rains down afterwards will make the lawsuit my client will file seem like a walk in the park.”  
  
Had to hand it to the Ivy League prick, he was good when he knew winning was an option. Playing hard ball with the Feds was a gutsy maneuver, one that Mr. Halcòn managed to overcome with the same finesse as a one-handed drift.  
  
Agents Penning and Loomis exited the room to have a more private discussion in the hallway. They returned less than ten minutes later, Penning nodding curtly as they sat. House arrest for the next six months it was. Dom’s release was scheduled for the following morning, giving the administration enough time to file the documents for his release and establish the monitoring feeds and parameters for the next six months. And like that he was free of the ghost of Lompoc or anybody else’s prison.  
  
The next morning he strode down the ramp into the morning sun, hazy from smog, and stretched his arms like tree branches, taking the deepest breath of his life. The air wasn’t the cleanest he’d ever inhaled, but it surely tasted the best. Freedom was a flavor that was incomparable and couldn’t be trumped.  
  
His life had been fractured among beautiful places. But the sight of tall towers of concrete and glass with pollution floating in the air and his sister standing on the sidewalk ahead of him counted as the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.  
  
His feet ate up the sidewalk to get to her. His arms immediately enveloped her as hers did him. She squeezed him brutally and gasped out, “I don’t know how you did this.” And she never would as per his promise. “God, Dom, you don’t know how much I’d hoped and prayed—not even a trial. This is…incredible,” Mia said as hugged him fiercely. “What did you do?”  
  
He pulled back a little so he could look down into her beautiful dark eyes. “That’s just it. I didn’t do anything; Brian did.”  
  
Mia mouthed Brian’s name silently. Her face was awash in conflict and simultaneous joy, as she fought back the tears. “Wherever he is, I can’t… just can’t thank him enough.” She’d looked for him too, worried about his injuries and Dom’s situation. Unlike five years ago, he disappeared without his face being beamed across the television station in the LA metro area.  
  
He read it across her face—the mystery of Brian O’Conner had sunken its claws into her again, but not as deeply as it did with him; equal parts thriller, adventure, and addiction, Brian wormed underneath the skin, never to be shaken loose again.  
  
“Mia,” he wrapped his arms around her again and buried his face in her hair, holding her as she cried silent tears of joy. “Mia Bella,” he murmured softly.  
  
He smiled again, because he was free.  
  


~*~*~*~

  
  
The old house felt bigger than he’d ever remembered. The house wasn’t that large, but with just him and Mia living there, it felt all but cavernous. Growing up the house had always been full of people: dad, mom, him, Mia, and neighbors galore. Even as family and relationships had ebbed and flowed in his life, the house had always been full.  
  
With the number of occupants whittled down to two, the house was quieter, spaces wider, and almost unfamiliar when new details were recognized and analyzed. All those things said about not going home again were true. Despite his room looking untouched, cleaner than he’d left it that final day of Race Wars, it felt different. It felt like slipping inside a shell that he’d outgrown and couldn’t remember how to slip inside.  
  
After five years, the place was still home, just tweaked and changed. It felt more like Mia’s house with all its order and sparkling cleanliness. The house would have never reached the level immaculate back then, because there was always someone tramping through or flopping down on the sofa or a chair, hijacking the television for a game on the playstation. They tore through food like an army and tended to bring their work home with them, gear heads to the last.  
  
Echo Park was different, too. Neighbors that had been second parents to him and Mia were far and between on the street these days. Time rolled on taking some of the old neighbors due to old age. The economy claimed others as for sale signs were propped up on a fair number of lawns. The rest were being gentrified. Gone was the mezcla, now twenty-something’s, college-educated and upwardly mobile looking for starter homes, had filled in the vacant spaces and thumbing pulse of music that used to reside here had been placed permanently on mute.  
  
Dom sat on the porch, just taking in the air, the smell of the grass and the fickle scent of flowers that tickled his nose when the wind blew. Several of his new neighbors had spared him a wary glance before they packed up in their Priuses or other ridiculous smart cars, probably wondering what a nice young woman like Mia was doing letting someone who looked like him loiter.  
  
Dicking with the Neighborhood Watch for the next six months would be _hilarious_.  
  
He had plenty of time to think about what he’d do to occupy himself. The market was out. Mia rented it out to a local family that turned it into an open air Mexican cantina. Then there was the garage, which had been locked up tight. That seemed like a logical place to start, but he had some reservations. He wasn’t prepared to walk inside to find dust and the lingering scents of sweat and motor oil, nor the floating ghosts of Letty, leaning against a wall with sharp eyes and feline grace, Vince stomping through to the kitchen or Jesse exploding excitedly over something he’d worked out on his computer. Or Brian…  
  
Handling that wasn’t on Dom’s agenda for the moment.  
  
Figuring out if his various rainy day stashes were still safe was a top priority. Finally, getting his hands on one of those Buicks was another. For now, he was content with just sitting, being in one place with wide spaces and occasional cool breezes.  
  
Mia watched him, he could tell, worriedly. She wasn’t sure what to do for him. It wasn’t as bad as when he first got out of Lompoc, but she hovered now out of range of his sight, though he knew she was there. Her worry pushed her to ask about his wrists and take it upon herself to disinfect and redress them.  
  
He’d learned long ago before she’d actually set out on the road of being a doctor, back when she’d been content to listen to cotton-stuffed chests of teddy bears and apply Band-Aids to their fuzzy boo-boos, to not argue with her. So he let her have her way and just surrendered his wrists to her inspection.  
  
As Dom rocked gently on the old porch swing that no longer creaked under his weight or rained flecks of snowy paint with each jostle, a thought about the Charger flitted across his mind. Just arguing about Mia’s mothering, he knew better than to mention the Charger to her. If she’d had her way, the Charger would have been scrapped after their dad’s accident. It died in that tunnel half-way between home and Mexico. His gut sank, he couldn’t even give it a proper burial. It was probably scrap like Mia wanted now.  
  
The Charger as a set of memories was saturated in his daddy, Letty and Brian on the surface. He was grateful that Brian hadn’t gotten too close to it, because two ghosts tied to that machine was more than enough; three would be one too many people haunting him.  
  
And there was Brian, bearer of his secrets, the only one who had ever reached the bottom of the bottomless well that was Dominic Toretto. Brian O’Conner got to be wrapped into a tight knot of the best and worst things that had ever happen to him. Always edging closer to good than not. Even though hard lessons reinforced the painful conclusion that Brian O’Conner wasn’t real had been learned and absorbed, Brian still felt real. The impact of five years ago to now still felt real and existed in the monumental transformation of his life.  
  
Brian O’Conner existed on a wedge, a piece of software and in the head of Dominic Toretto, nowhere else. If Brian did exist, their paths wouldn’t cross again, if the powers that be had their say. But Brian had a way of constantly surprising him. Reality had taken a hard turn at sci-fi, swerved into absurd and skittered to a halt at the threshold of possibility.  
  
There was always hope, right? Given all that he’d seen there had to be.  
  
The morning bled away into afternoon, giving him a valid reason to liberate some of the longnecks from the fridge. He leaned against the porch railing…He looked over at the Lopez house, down at the lawn and unfolded a memory that started with mild curiosity and ended with Brian hoofing it down the sidewalk with a smile on his face though his car had been torched like an overcooked steak.  
  
He’d watched wisps of blond curls disappear as the sidewalk sloped beneath the front wall enclosing the Lopez yard. Just like he watched similar curls bob along the wall, growing taller as the walker continued up the walkway.  
  
He turned his attention fully to the sidewalk, waiting patiently as his heart shifted up from a slow thump to a chest rattling arpeggio. In his memories, he’d watched Brian disappear into the darkness, bopping down a dark street, seemingly lost in his thoughts, even from a distance a satisfied smirk quirked his lips.  
  
And now, Brian O’Conner walked in the light, still striding loose-limbed and freely with a face clear of problem thoughts. Dom stayed on the porch, hung back in the shade as if that would keep this Brian O’Conner apparition from seeing him. Maybe the combination of sitting in the hot sun and beer after swallowing pain medication had conjured up this vivid hallucination.  
  
He’d used what little cover he had to hide his disappointment, if it all turned out to be just another ghost of failed hopes and dreams.  
  
Then, the daydream turned his head catching sight of Dom on the porch and flashed a megawatt grin in response, and quickened his long strides.  
  
Brian, not Lance, not Lewis, just Brian, it seemed cleared the yard in a matter of scant seconds, making Dom remember one of those minor details he’d forgotten, like, just how fast Brian could be on his feet if motivated enough.  
  
Dom stared down at him from the top of the stairs. It was like being stuck in a sand trap from five years ago. Here Brian was squinting up at him, his eyes alarming blue--sparkling, challenging Dom silently, while all Dom could do was watch him, assess him and determine whether he was real again or counterfeit. The corner of his forehead was covered by two stripes of white medical tape and other than that, the messy blond hair, carelessly baggy t-shirt and jeans and Chucks said this was Brian O’Conner.  
  
It wasn’t heat stroke after all that put Brian O’Conner less than five feet from him. It was Brian O’Conner, who’d come back.  
  
Whether he’d remembered the last few days or more, Dom would have to wait and see. As it was Brian shoved his hands in his pockets and looked uncharacteristically shy for a couple of seconds before chuckling dryly at some unspoken joke. “Feels good to be out and about. I got curbside service and everything, but I feel like I haven’t been on my feet in a while. Just had to stretch out, you know? Get some air; feel the sun and my feet just carried me here.”  
  
Dom finished his beer, rested it on the railing and leaned against the tall post. This moment was familiar, reminded him of that last night before they headed off to drag Braga back, and he wondered if Brian still remembered.  
  
Brian had always been a mystery.  
  
Now that Dom had seen the puzzle for what it was, he would have to wait for Brian to show him the new order of the pieces. If they were lucky, then the pieces wouldn’t be shuffled too much.  
  
Dom swept his arms through the air effusively. “That’s some hike you took. My dogs would be barking by now if I was you, O’Conner.” That had been the case after the Trans had torched Brian’s Eclipse. Too much adrenaline, a few longnecks and Corona was enough to make him forget that longass hike. “You’ve been gone for a good minute and this is the first place you came? What, you don’t have any friends?”  
  
Brian’s lips twisted, not in an effort to hide a pout, but a smile. “Aw, man, I thought we were friends. I see you’re trying to be cool now that I’m all rested up and ready to beat you…again.” He shook his head in feigned disapproval, the edge of his smirk just as bright as the sun. Dom was almost blinded. “I thought we were cool?” He said with puppy dog softness.  
  
“We’re cool. We may be friends because someone has to watch out for you and only a friend would make the effort to keep your white bread ass outta trouble.” Still thinking he had a chance behind the wheel; Dom hissed through his teeth and decided to humor Brian. It was good to see that some things didn’t change. “That hit on the head must have been a nasty one. First, you’re tramping all over town like hooker that needs to pay the rent and now you’re just speaking nonsense. Your head must still be a little cracked.”  
  
Brian climbed the remaining steps and stood toe to toe with Dom before skirting around him, shoulders bumping along the way to end up on the other side of the railing. Dom caught traces of sweat and fresh air as he passed and not even the faintest hint of the recycled air from the Dollhouse.  
  
“You got jokes, okay,” Brian said, nodding and smiling after he settled back against the rail. “Seems like there are a lot of plus and minuses hanging around, bro.” Brian folded his arms over his chest and watched Dom, who gazed back at him just as intently. “Looks like I’m out of a job and…I’m pretty much homeless. That’s what happens when the rent goes unpaid for a couple of months, but the plus side is that I’m back in fighting shape--”  
  
Dom snorted. “I can see that, even though you can’t fight for shit.” It was almost comical how bad Brian was at fighting back in friendly skirmishes. Not that Dom doubted that Brian could whoop ass, if push came to shove in a life or death situation.  
  
To which Brian replied with a sharp roll of his eyes, “And need a haircut--”He dug his fingers through his hair and jostled the curls atop his head. Blond like this, Brian looked much younger and made Dom feel the accumulation of the miles and years in transit. He also felt vaguely like a cradle robber.  
  
“You sure about that?” Dom asked. Those curls had been a signature, a vivid reminder of the first time Dom had laid eyes on Brian O’Conner. But they also reminded him of fucked up fairy tales, serial killers and mind swapping technology. They felt so good—soft under his hands the few times Dom had reached out and touched them. It was Brian’s decision at the end of the day and Dom needed to remember that. “Yeah, scratch that; do whatever you want. It’s your decision whether you want to look like a Sound of Music reject.”  
  
Brian found Dom’s eyes again and the laughter started slow, building up until Brian was doubled in half while Dom relied on the rail for support as his head hung low and barks of laughter poured out.  
  
After they sobered up, Brian tugged on a long wavy strand that didn’t quite stretch to his nose. Catching Dom’s eyes, he shrugged, “Maybe, I can be persuaded to put it off.” He decided to let the Sound of Music crack pass. “But then there’s a matter of money.”  
  
“Don’t tell me: you’re broker than a joke,” Dom declared. “You’re broke and we have no cars. I feel like I’m fifteen all over again.” Those had been sucky days before his learner’s permit and scavenging and taking jobs on top of shifts at the market had allowed him to scrape up enough to get his first set of wheels. A real piercer that one, but it had been his.  
  
Juvie and joyriding had been in Brian’s past. That was good enough for Dom. He knew better than to scratch for details. “Actually, the opposite. Some pre-emptive negligence settlement from that _hospital_ or whatever and I’ll be sitting pretty for a while. Then there’s a little suminthin’-suminthin’ from Miami that I squirreled away.”  
  
Dom wondered how that came to pass. With Hobbs all but hogtying Brian and dragging him back to the Dollhouse, according to Alpha, how had he managed to plan for the long-term? Even if Dom had already been assured that Brian O’Conner was just as much flesh and blood as he was, this desire to survive just proved it even more. Dom could admit his curiosity was definitely piqued.  
  
He cocked a lone brow, glancing at Brian. “You don’t say. How’d you manage that without the Feds figuring out? Don’t tell me you went for the money in the mattress trick, cuz it sounds like the mattress is long gone.”  
  
For someone not imprinted, Dom had plenty of voices in his head, warring about what he should do: DeWitt, Alpha, Mia, himself, even the child-like musings of Lance. With Brian standing in front of him, they were all muted and he wouldn’t pretend otherwise.  
  
Brian scratched at his bandages. How much did he remember, Dom wondered.  
  
As he always seemed to do, Brian picked up on his train of thought and answered him inadvertently. “I’ve never seen a hospital like that before, but I think they spared no expense in giving me the good stuff. I had the trippiest dreams. One had you, me and some freaky ginger dude in a basement.”  
  
Dom held up a hand. So much for wondering how much Brian remembered. It was obvious that he remembered enough of the bad stuff. Thankfully, he was playing it off as a dream. “O’Conner, we’re cool and all, but I don’t need to hear your kinky fantasies,” Dom said bluntly. “I know I’m, like, calendar material and all, and that we got up to some stuff that would make Pam Anderson and Tommy Lee blush, but…there are some things I just don’t need to know.”  
  
Brian awarded him that cocksure smirk. “I didn’t even get the part where you were tied up and gagged. I guess that fantasy’s out of the rotation.” Brian shook his head solemnly. “You dream crusher, you.”  
  
Dom had never been a fan of restraints whether recreational or legal. The fact that Brian remembered _before_ was enough. The fact he wanted more without being pushed, but on his own volition made Dom ache again in a way that was entirely separate from his injuries.  
  
Brian turned to look at the street, seemingly deriving the same satisfaction as Dom had from the sight of green grass and blue skies. “The doc said I should come after for the first three months and then after a year someone would come visit me to do a diagnostic.” Brian scratched the back of his head absently. “No offense, it seemed like a nice place, but it was hella creepy,” he said sweeping his eyes over the horizon and back over Dom. “I’m pretty sure I can have a doctor elsewhere check me out.”  
  
Creepy was the most apropos description of the Dollhouse. If Brian had no qualms with not going back then Dom would do his damnedest to help him keep it that way. “That hospital must be exclusive. We couldn’t find even a hint of you anywhere. For a good while there you seemed like a ghost.”  
  
Holding his arms up in surrender, Brian looked downright contrite. “Blame that one on me. Next time, I’m told to fill out an emergency contact form, I’ll do it.” He lookly shyly at Dom from under the shadow of his drooping curls. “So… you wanna be my contact?”  
  
Dom wanted to be more than that, but that was a conversation for another day. Dom would play this cool, tease him a little. “I’m not sure if I want my phone blowing up all the time, O’Conner. With the amount of trouble you get in, shit,” he chuckled drily. “But someone has to watch your back, so I guess I’m up for the job. Plus, I’ve got nothing but time for the next six months.”  
  
Content with Dom’s roundabout answer, Brian shuffled sideways, shouldering up close to Dom. So close, the short distance between them seemed charged, bursting with potential energy to do just about anything. “There’s one thing I’ll miss about being a Fed,” Brian sighed dramatically.  
  
Dom cast a sideway look at Brian, mapping his clean profile for the thousandth time that afternoon, and ultimately deciding he liked what he saw with a small tilt of his head. “What’s that?”  
  
“The health insurance,” Brian answered wryly and Dom found himself laughing too at the weak joke. “It’s crazy hot out here though. Can’t believe I didn’t fry like bacon on the sidewalk as I walked over here.” He eyed Dom’s sweaty beer longingly. “What are the chances that you have more of those?”  
  
Condensation pooled beneath the liberated Coronas sitting under the swing. “High,” Dom declared. He snagged two of the barely warm bottles. “You can have any beer you want--”  
  
“As long as it’s a Corona,” Brian finished. He smiled and made a _give me_ motion with his hands. “Then, I’ll have a Corona, Dee.”  
  
Dom had a few passing thoughts about giving Brian a beer after being put through the mental paces, but in the end, he didn’t resist. Just handed over the beer and watched Brian drain a good third of it in one long swig. Because when it came down to Brian O’Conner he wasn’t the most objective person. Most of the time, he was downright stupid and if that meant he and Brian would continue to kick it, then he’d gladly stay stupid.  
  
As crazy as Alpha had been, Dom doubted he’d spend hours on end lying for the hell of it. He’d said the programming had only given Brian skills. The feelings had been all his own. That constant spark and blazing impetus had always been his own. Brian felt feelings for Dom, because he cared about Dom and no computer could replicate that.  
  
On his old porch, between sweaty beers and light traffic, Dom could finally admit that his feelings for Brian were just as deep, concrete and too expansive for a single word like love. Through all the curiosity, the challenges, the magnetism that drove the possessiveness between them, Dom had the everlasting certainty of knowing that Brian O’Conner was it. Like a quarter mile would always symbolize freedom, Brian would always be the shadow at the corner of his eye, running neck and neck with him until the end.  
  
Brian rolled his bottle between his hands. Dom plucked it from his palms and replaced the empty with a fresh bottle, earning him a grin white like a starburst. “Did I tell you I saw a man about a car—big, black, broken. A real diamond in the rough.”  
  
Always a busy bee. Restoring the Charger would make the next six months fly by. With money not an issue, it was just a matter of using their time wisely by filling in the empty spaces together.  
  
So they clicked their bottles together in a small toast and they drank in comfortable silence. With the peace between them feeling normal again, Dom said with a smile, “Did you, now? Why don’t you tell me all about this car?”  
  
They moved to the swing and spent the rest of the afternoon talking about the Charger and the Buicks from Dom’s fantasies. They were shooting the shit, talking about everything and nothing at all as the day passed them by, and at the end of the day, all was once again right in the world of Dom and Brian.


	11. Ten/Epilogue

Rain pelted the corrugated roof like millions of marbles descending from the sky, pinging noisily in waves that soothed the ears after long enough. The bedroom window was pushed out: slats open to the humid outside air, allowing the exchange of thick drafts of salt water and sea grass to overtake the scents of sweat and spunk that lingered in the room.  
  
Dom hadn’t bothered to turn on a light. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know where all the important things were should he need them and when Brian was sacked out like this, sprawled like a jellyfish across the bed and Dom’s chest, he really didn’t want to disturb him.  
  
Lightning painted the room in neon white stripes and the thunder lagged behind in a ten second delay; muted and distant like this it matched the steady thrum of the engine hums still ringing in Dom’s head. Though his heart, slow and finally settled after the long drop off of adrenaline and endorphins beat in time with Brian’s, which he felt along his side.  
  
Nights like this were common enough, exciting still, where they came through the door drunk off of adrenaline and buzzed with beer, which God had blessed Brazil with in heaping bottles, and electricity running under their skin. Brian would give him a look, sometimes on the rickety porch or just inside the door if Dom was lucky, and he’d end up kicking the front door shut as he was pulled deeper into the house, through dark hallways until they reached the bedroom.  
  
Still careless about his clothes, Brian would toss his t-shirt to one of a billion identical dark corners and loop his arm around Dom’s neck and pull him in. Eye to eye like that there was no veering off. No disconnecting the magnetic pull nor the blue that pierced soul deep and never bothered to question more about his missing time, the random headaches or spirals of déjà vu.  
  
Like this, Dom was at Brian’s command, which demanded his mouth as Brian’s lips sought his, pulled him into a kiss layered in lime and passion. When Brian was like this, he was free. Controlling and demanding, he forced Dom to keep up for a change through the bluntness of his fingers, the power of his kiss and the surety of his hips which ground against Dom’s like they’d suddenly lost their bones.  
  
Brian moved above him sweat slick with back arched, Dom rose to meet every challenge, ran his hands up smooth plains of lean muscle, cradled angular hips that bucked his control and held on as Brian came apart under his own power. And Dom rode it out with blood roaring in his ears, sheets stuck to his back and feeling like he couldn’t get any closer to Brian O’Conner than he already was, buried impossibly deep and going off like a rocket inside him.  
  
Sleep came next like a stifling blanket, but Dom remained awake and didn’t complain as Brian wrapped around him like a living body pillow. Just went with it, stroked his hair, cropped closer but nowhere as severe as before and let his thoughts roam. Racing for slips got Brian like this. Winning a Smurf blue Porsche was the fulfillment of a childhood fantasy that brought half-formed sad smiles to Dom’s face.  
  
Six months to the day and not a day more, Dom crossed the border heading south with the intention of not heading north for a long, long time. At his side, Brian O’Conner riding shotgun as annoying as ever for driver being told to sit back, shut up and enjoy the ride.  
  
With Alpha’s words about the whole show falling like a house of cards slithering in his ears like nighttime spiders, Dom was glad to have Mia within reachable distance. She’d be a damn good doctor in Rio and get that happily ever after that he’d always wanted for her. If or when it all fell down, he could keep her safe, keep her close and maybe he’d have to tell her what he knew. But planning for disasters was best done in the daylight when all angles could be seen more clearly.  
  
He told himself they’d be ready when that day came. Just keep his mouth shut and block out the Dollhouse, Alpha and all matters of things best left to comic books.  
  
His thoughts drifted to Lance, who only peeked out when Brian was stagnant and without pressures and ideas dictating his expressions. Lewis was another ghost hovering with the rest that Dom carried. A victim to Dom’s selfishness. Even though he didn’t break the wedge, he was the spark that made Brian O’Conner rebel and jump off the shelf into real existence.  
  
As the lightning moved off into the distance, Dom knew tomorrow would be a beautiful day. A deuce and a quarter day—there was nothing better than a drop-top and a slow ride over white walled tires. He’d even let Brian convince him to try _caju_ and _jaca_ since he was admittedly curious and slightly freaked out by both fruits, though Dom would never say that aloud, because Brian would never let him hear the end of it.  
  
Tomorrow was a day for relaxing with no room for complicated thoughts or challenges. Brian still propositioned him for a race or two. Sometimes, he even won. Most times, he didn’t because he was still a buster. Tomorrow was about enjoying the blessings of paradise.  
  
Dom smiled in the darkness, his show of teeth gleaming like lightning over the sea. He raked his fingers through Brian’s rebellious curls and was ultimately thankful. They still didn’t say those three little words very often, showed it far easier than they said it, and found contentment in knowing their limits.  
  
At night, as they fell asleep sated and fucking happy, he’d watch Brian more freely then. Always promising one more look before he could drift off to sleep to keep that whispering fear that Brian would be gone again when he woke up cornered and staunched.  
  
Brian shifted atop of him, curling his arms tighter around Dom’s chest and used one of his pecs as pillow. Itchy patches were surfacing in the path of Brian’s sleepy head, and Dom would ride his ass about it tomorrow. Was shaving daily really that hard?  
  
But Brian shuddered then, derailing Dom’s reasons for bitching legitimately, and buried his face deeper into Dom’s chest. He breathed a sleep thick, “Dee,” and sighed.  
  
“Yeah?” Dom whispered carefully, resuming the gentle strokes of his fingers.  
  
Brian lay still for a second, making Dom believe that he’d gone back to sleep. Then, Brian murmured softer still, “Trust you.”  
  
“Back at ya, O’Conner.” Dom closed his eyes with arms encircling Brian and the rain continued to fall.  
  
The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it would be best to provide some background to this story for those that aren’t familiar with the crossover fandoms, and for those who are interested in how I came up with this story idea.
> 
> **Fandoms** :
> 
> 1\. **The Fast and The Furious** : The primary characters of this story are Dominic Toretto and Brian O’Conner. There are spoilers and references to events in all the movies in which they appear ( The Fast and The Furious, 2 Fast 2 Furious, Fast and Furious, and Fast Five). The story is primarily told from Dom’s POV and ventures into an AU immediately following the end of Fast and Furious (movie # 4).
> 
> 2\. **Dollhouse** : Thanks in part to the sparse background information on lead characters in TFATF Universe, it was easy to drop one in particular into the Dollhouse universe. Sierra/Priya’s backstory influenced this story. Her introduction to the Dollhouse serves as the vehicle for Dollhouse’s entry into the lives of Dom and Brian. Dialogue was taken directly from the episodes “Briar Rose” and “Omega”. There are also vague references to the events in “Epitaph One” and “Epitaph Two: Return”. The scope of the imprinting technology is bastardized from the show's description.
> 
> Dom is forced to wade through the murky contextual (and consensual) issues surrounding the Dollhouse. Throughout the last half of the story, he will have an internal debate with himself regarding the dubious nature of consent and the aftermath of engaging in tacit prostitution that the Actives are forced into doing due to their contracts with the Dollhouse. The Dollhouse is in direct opposition with his moral code.The fact that he is drawn into its sphere of influence ignites deeper conflict within him, his relationships, and his perception of reality.
> 
> 3\. **Joy Ride** : There are general references to this film. This story deviates from the canon ending events. It supposes what would have happened had Rusty Nail succeeded in killing two canon characters during the final hotel scene.
> 
> I wanted to subvert the Final Girl trope common in horror movies, where the last girl standing ultimately confronts her fear and faces the slasher/monster/boogeyman terrorizing her. Instead, I made a male the last person standing. As in the movie, Lewis didn’t want to confront Rusty Nail ( the villain), and I supposed what would have happened if the confrontation was forced on him, leading to torture, implied sexual assault and the psychological effects of victimhood. The frame story for The Place You’ll Go delves into what I believe is the real horror in most horror movies—the what if’s that transpire after the films are over and how the victims have to come to terms with survival. 
> 
> **Additional References** :  
> Information about the Buick Deuce and a Quarter was taken from “Curbside Classic: 1967 Buick Electra 225- The Jayne Mansfield of Convertibles”.
> 
> Trivia: The voice of Rusty Nail was played by Ted Levine, who starred as Sgt. Tanner in The Fast and The Furious.


End file.
